Black Wolf

GLH 17

Disclaimer: This is a story based on Harry Potter, Marvel, DC and Image comics characters and all recognizable characters, plots belong to Jk Rowling,Marvel, DC and Image comics. I claim no ownership to it.

Chapter 17: The World Was Not Ready : Part V

Gotham

The Day after Harry left Gotham. 

Aurors Robin Williams and John Williams of MACUSA apparated to one of the apparition points hidden under Notice-Me-Not charms in the godforsaken city of Gotham. The harsh sounds of the night were joined by the crack of apparition, though it quickly fell silent. The moment they appeared, they enveloped themselves in a shield—because it was Gotham. Even Aurors dreaded coming here because of the lunatics who ruled the streets.

It was still an office secret that two Aurors had almost died while investigating the vigilante called Batman. They had been under Notice-Me-Not, Disillusionment, and other hiding charms when the entire auditorium room was blown apart by one of Batman’s insane criminal rogues. To their further embarrassment, the muggle Batman had managed to escape the blast, while the wizards were caught with their defenses down.

“John, it seems that we arrived safely at least this time,” Robin said with a grin.

John only grunted in irritation.

“Robin, this is not the time for games. We are in Gotham, where anything can happen. Activate the supersensory charm, and let us proceed to the place where the magic has been detected.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Robin mock-saluted, but she did follow the order and activated the charm.

They reached the location where the trace had been found, which turned out to be a lodge. Entering, they looked around. Seeing no security cameras, they approached the sleeping form of the receptionist. John waved his wand, and the man’s eyes opened—empty of consciousness.

“Legilimens.”

Memories of the last days rushed past, and John fortunately reached the anomaly quickly.

The receptionist had suddenly become aware of a free room he forgotten for some days.  The receptionist even remembered dismissing one prospective tenant that there is no vacant room.

 When the receptionist entered the room it was crystal clear of any dust and looked like a new room.  He even pressed on the mattress to check the cushion and was further amazed by it. It was softer than anything else he felt in his life, including various boobs and asses he perused. He had been so impressed that he started sleeping in the room during his free time, deciding to keep it for himself.

“Looks like God has given me a gift after all my years in Gotham,” the receptionist had whispered while lying on the bed.

John grimaced as he pulled out of the man’s mind. “Come, Robin. It is a room—but it has been modified to feel like utmost luxury.”

They entered, and Robin’s eyes widened at the unnatural cleanliness and color in the space. The two Aurors shared a look, nodded, and began weaving detection spells.

After a few minutes, they were both shocked to realize there was nothing to identify the wizard.

“This is impossible,” Robin whispered. “There is nothing here except a magical signature, and even that cannot be recorded—only felt by us. More than that, why did the system fail to discover it during casting or afterward? Our system only tagged the magical energy after the wizard left.”

John nodded. “You are correct. This entire situation has been impossible from the start. It is the first time our detection system has shown backdated traces. More than that, my spells found nothing here—and the power, or rather the quality of the spells, is extraordinary.”

“Now what will we do?” Robin asked in worry. As if in answer, their Auror shields activated simultaneously with a message.

They unfolded it.

‘Multiple counts of magical energy detected near a muggle university. Similar backdated signature.’

=======================================

The aurors reached the muggle university and started their work.

The Aurors sighed in tiredness as they recorded the findings. There were the usual disguise charms, but the patronus surprised them most. For the life of them, they could not see how someone could summon a patronus openly without drawing attention, especially while maintaining disguise charms at the same time. They noted it down and returned to their office, as they couldn’t find anything else.

===============================

It was almost ten days later that their system flagged another magical energy backdated back in Gotham.  It started with apparition, the same concealment charms, and then nothing. As if the wizard had gone fully muggle afterward, using not even a warming charm.

John and Robin had nearly written off the strange magical energy as yet another unsolvable mystery beyond their skills, deciding to forward it to one of the magical Lords if any were interested. After all, they had found nothing despite investigating for a week.

It was then that they were summoned to their direct commander in the Auror Office.

“John. Robin,” the commander said, pointing to the chairs opposite his desk.

“I hear you are planning to submit your report of failure regarding the mysterious Gotham magical energy and recommend its transfer to one of the Lords, should they take an interest?” the commander asked once they were seated.

“Yes, Chief,” Robin answered with a shrug. “There’s nothing more we can do. We’re some of the best trackers for regular mages, but this seems more like one of those blessed-bastards’ alley. What of it?”

The Chief fixed them with a hard stare before replying.

“Here’s the latest report from Mugglewatch. See for yourselves.”

He flicked his wand, and two duplicated copies flew across the desk toward them.

Both John and Robin caught them immediately and began to read, their curiosity piqued. It was a single transaction flagged among the watchlisted accounts. The account in question had lain dormant since the Great War, untouched except for the accrual of interest, dividends, and Stark Industries fees. And now, in one sudden transaction, it had been nearly emptied.

The name “Potter” leapt out at them. Of course it struck a chord—the supposed British hero of their last civil war, the boy who had somehow survived a killing curse.

“What does this have to do with our mystery wizard?” John asked. “Harry Potter’s a child. He’s clearly not the one behind such high-level magic.”

“Well,” the Chief said with a frown, “if you had actually read the full report, you would have noticed something else. The very account that received Potter’s transfer also received a substantial sum from House Black of Britain. One of the over-curious, overachieving employees in Mugglewatch decided to dig deeper into the muggle account holder. To their shock, they discovered the same address tied to another large deposit from yet another magical house.  And that address just happens to match the second location where our mystery wizard appeared.”

He leaned back, watching them closely.

“Go. Find out what this is about.”

==============================

“So, what did you find in the last three days?” the chief asked as John and Robin came in to report.

“Well, it is a clusterfuck. The company they bought is something on the internet where people meet their old friends or something like that. House Potter and House Black combined hold forty-nine percent of the company, and it was Sirius Black and James Potter who made the purchase within two days. Even though the owner shows no signs of being magically manipulated, there’s definitely something wrong that we couldn’t identify.”

“So a man who’s been living through hell for years and another man who’s supposed to be dead just walked in and bought it?” the chief asked in bewilderment.

John only shrugged. “We investigated Sirius Black, and the latest news is that he took a Portkey somewhere to heal. Also, in the memory I saw from the Muggle’s mind, neither of them looked anything like their pictures. Whoever it was, they were under Polyjuice and acted as representatives of House Black since the transfer went through legal channels.”

The chief remained silent, thinking it over. Finally, he sighed and said, “Forward this to the upper levels. There’s nothing more we can do. Let the intellectuals figure out why our detection system failed and what to do with such a massive purchase that almost breaks the unwritten rules of Statue of Secrecy”

=======================================

Tony Stark

Tony woke up screaming from the nightmare that plagued him. This time it was about his parents’ accident—about how much he missed his mother. He didn’t even have time to dwell on it before the world’s biggest hangover slammed into him. Groaning in pain, he tightened his arms around the two warm bodies beside him, whose names he had completely forgotten, as if to anchor himself. But he quickly withdrew his hands.

With the practiced ease of a veteran, Tony extracted himself from the sheets and the girls without waking either of them.

He arrived at the breakfast hall of his manor and groaned again at the sight of his relatively new PA, Pepper Potts, eating while looking through a pile of documents. Tony knew then that today would be a bad day for him as the CEO of Stark Industries.

“Good afternoon, Mr Stark.” A British accented voice came around him, and even with the headache Tony smiled slightly.

“Oh Well, morning to you too, Jarvis. It is too bright here. Decrease the brightness by twenty percent, Jarvis,” Tony ordered as he reached the table.

Immediately, the shade color changed slightly while the electric lights started dimming.

Pepper looked up from her documents and frowned. She opened her mouth while scowling, but immediately closed it, remembering that, for how much their friendship had grown, Tony was still her boss, and Pepper did not want to ruin it by questioning Tony’s personal habits yet.

“Isn’t this my favorite lady in the world?” Tony snarked as he sat down and started piling food onto his plate.

“Tony, I distinctly remember telling you yesterday over the phone that I would be here at 12 PM, giving you ample time to get ready after getting up, and yet now it is 2 PM and you slept in,” Pepper said with a glare.

Tony just scoffed and waved his hand to dismiss Pepper. “Yeah yeah, it is 2 PM. I am the boss and Stark Industries can run on my time.”

Pepper just sighed, knowing it would be a waste of time to argue with Tony over this. Before she could continue, Tony asked,

“So what is the damned thing that is so important that you have been on my ass about this meeting for the last two days? I was busy with research in the lab and I told you to send whatever through Jarvis.” Tony grumbled in irritation while his memories went back to the hours of research he conducted with the girls. He discovered that he could get it up with even drunk and stoned out of mind. More than that he discovered the final confirmation for having the greatest mind on Earth.  Even drunk and being high as a kite, Tony could remember every single second of it. 

“Well, Tony, do you know any house by the name of Potter?” Pepper asked.

Tony looked confused for a moment before shaking his head. “I have never heard of it before, and thus how important can it be?” Tony said with a grin. “Jarvis, do you have any records of Potter?”

Jarvis remained silent for a heartbeat, which made Tony’s eyes widen in surprise. Tony had made sure the AI had instant response by giving the servers some of the best systems anywhere in the world.

“I am sorry, sir. I have only two instances of Potter in my database. One is in the shareholders list of Stark Industries, and the other is an old photograph of your father with comrades where one man is identified as Charlus Potter,” Jarvis replied, and a holographic display appeared from the wall where the document and photo were projected.

“Well, it is very important, because Tony Stark received both a letter and an email from the representative of House Potter to renegotiate the fees we have been paying for using their voting rights.”

Tony almost dropped the glass of water he was drinking when he heard that.

“What? I hold forty six percent of Stark Industries. What do you mean re-negotiate the fees? I do not pay any fees to anyone for their voting rights because I do not need it.”

Pepper just frowned. “Well, it is what I thought too. We were all wrong. Even I was skeptical when I received the letter. But after going through the bank statements it was evident that your father had automated the entire process perpetually, and an account was maintained in House Potter’s name where all proceeds were accumulated since the end of World War Two and the public incorporation of Stark Industries. I was curious, so I even used your name to get the old minutes and the shareholders book until I finally verified it. Your father gave two point five percent to one Arcturus Black and another to Charlus Potter. Arcturus transferred his share to his sister’s name, Dorea, wife of Charlus Potter. Charlus accepted it and leased his voting rights to your father, Tony. You own only forty one percent of Stark Industries. The Share Certificate has never been dematerialised and stored in any Demat account. The Potters must still have the original Share Certificate and even without it the Contract signed by your father is still valid.”

Tony looked bewildered as he immediately took the documents from Pepper’s hand and flicked through them while speed reading everything.

“Jarvis, you have scanned the documents, right? Is everything valid and legal?” Tony asked finally, as he could not see anything illegal or fake.

“No, sir. Everything appears to be legal and valid. I just found another piece of information from the bank account where almost twenty five million has been accumulated. It was accessed by the owner and used to purchase a significant stake in Facebook,” Jarvis said calmly.

“Interesting. Very interesting that they went after the upcoming social media like that,” Pepper said. “I can see the potential in that.”

Tony nodded, as even he had seen how popular it had become in a short time.

Tony looked at Pepper. “So, who is the current owner and how much are they asking? Also, why should I pay more when we already have an agreement in place?”

It was Jarvis who answered the question.

“Sir, the current and only living member of House Potter is the ten year old grandson of Charlus Potter, Harry Potter. There is no other information regarding him, but it is not unheard of, as they were British lords who remained in the shadows. The agreement has a clause to renegotiate every five years, and the Potters have never contacted us for renegotiation in the last five decades. Compared to the value of those rights, what we pay as of now is paltry.”

“I see,” Tony said. “What are they asking for now? No wonder something from my father’s old war days comes back to haunt me. It is almost always that way—it ruins things for me.”

“Well, they did not mention any amount. They were asking for a meeting with you to renegotiate face to face rather than over email,” Pepper said.

Tony nodded. “Set up a meeting, Pepper. I am tired and I am going back to sleep. I will sign whatever later. And Jarvis, keep the name Potter in your view. Search every lead for that family and find me what they did to earn my father giving them such a significant percentage of Stark shares.”

Tony walked away before Pepper could protest.

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis’s voice echoed from the speaker in the hall Tony was walking through.

=========================================

Nicholas Fury

Black Castle.

Fury looked at Lord Black and noted how completely at ease he was with two guns pointed at him. Fury could see that Lord Black’s entire concentration was on Diana Prince, and even though Fury was not usually prideful when it came to confrontations, he was miffed at the complete dismissal from the wizard.

Lord Black invited them in, and Diana turned to look at them, nodding, which made Fury sigh and lower his gun, holstering it. He looked ahead and saw nothing, but still walked forward with Hill following behind.

When he entered the magical protection, it felt like he was passing through invisible jelly, and his satellite phone short-circuited in his belt where it was hooked. Only Diana’s insane reaction speed of turning and throwing it away saved him from suffering burns.

Fury grimaced and nodded in thanks to Diana. He looked at Lord Black, expecting some kind of response, but was still ignored. It took several deep breaths to calm his irritation and anger. To occupy his mind, he looked around and saw they were passing through a trail with a maze-like garden on one side and a forest of trees on the right. He looked ahead for the supposed castle, and to his horror, it was not even visible because of how small it appeared in the distance. Fury grimaced, horrified at the time wasted walking all the way there, but still did not speak up. He was certain he would be ignored by their host, and he did not need further humiliation.

They had taken almost a dozen steps when Fury’s breath hitched as he suddenly felt nauseous for a second. His eyes widened, and he looked around. To his immense surprise, he was only a few steps away from the castle entrance. Looking behind, he could not even see the towering gate they had entered through, and Hill was struggling not to vomit while trying to keep her composure.

Fury turned to look at Lord Black, and for the first time since they had met, the man glanced at them. Fury almost asked what had just happened, but the mocking smirk and the knowing glint in Lord Black’s grey eyes stopped him. Fury refused to give the man the satisfaction. He looked at Diana, and she appeared unbothered, though to his irritation there was a faint smile on her face. Still, he wondered how he could acquire instant teleportation like this. He had heard of portkeys and even apparition, but never something like this that could work on non-magical people like himself.

They entered the castle proper, and the slight pressure Fury had felt from the gates increased drastically. His instincts screamed of deadly retribution if he harmed anyone under the castle’s protection, and he forced himself to push those type of thoughts away, since Fury was not sure if the magic could detect even intent and then attack. 

 Fury looked around in awe and wonder as he and his deputy followed Diana and Lord Black. Despite the crushing magical pressure and doomsday he was feeling, the sheer wealth and opulence on display, mixed with the eerie chill of the castle, was unlike anything Fury had ever experienced. 

Finally, they entered a meeting room. Lord Black sat behind a table in a throne-like chair, while Fury and his companions sat opposite in deliberately bare chairs. They had no decoration or cushions, yet the seat was one of the softest Fury had ever sat in.

“Arcturus,” Diana said promptly, for which Fury was very grateful. “My condolences for the death of your nephew and his wife ten years ago. I know it will not lessen the sorrow you feel, but I must still convey it.”

Fury almost snorted aloud. As far as he could see, the noble bastard across from him showed no signs of sorrow. His face, his body language—everything radiated nonchalance, with only the slightest wariness and determination. Fury smirked slightly, realizing that Diana’s presence here had actually rattled this arrogant and over-proud Lord Black.

“Your condolences are noted, Diana,” Lord Black replied with a nod. “But I must insist—what brought you here, and that too unannounced? The only reason I indulged this is because it is you, Diana.”

“Then I will come to the matter,” Diana said with a smile.

Fury, who had been looking around the meeting room for any interesting details, focused on Lord Black.

“You see, I was informed by my friends in SHIELD—the successor of the SSR, if you do not know—that Harry Potter went missing after an explosion in the man’s world. I was also informed of your movements regarding House Potter, and that you are regent. I owe it to at least Charlus and Dorea to check on him and make sure everything is all right,” Diana finished with a frown.

Fury noticed Lord Black remain silent. Since Diana did not ask anything further, Fury took the chance.

“Also, we would like to know what happened in Surrey and what your interests in the real world are now.” Fury asked. 

Diana frowned deeply at him, and Fury almost apologized but kept silent and ignored her silent disapproval. 

Diana sighed, then said, “This is Nicholas Fury of SHIELD, The Di..”

“Enough of them,” Lord Black said flatly. Suddenly, a crushing pressure bore down on them, sending Fury into a panic. No, not on them as it was not on Diana—it was on him and Hill alone. He tried to turn his head to see Diana but could only glimpse her from the corner of his eye.

“It does not matter who they are or what they want, Diana. I only allowed them here because they were with you,” Lord Black snapped. “Now, do you really believe you have the right to claim you care for Charlus and Dorea when you did not bother to stay with us after the Great War ended? You chose the muggle world and ignored the civil war in our lands, all for peace and a normal life. Your audacity astounds me, Diana. I will not answer the inane curiosities of these uncivilized morons with their insane ideas of spycraft and paranoia.”

Fury was stunned that this man dared snap at Wonder Woman, knowing her power. The magical pressure vanished, and Fury turned to Diana for her response. He expected anger or irritation—but instead, clear mirth shone in her eyes.

“Well, well, Arcturus. Did you really think you could avoid answering my question by angering me and questioning me? You asked what right I have? It is the greatest right the magicals respect—power. As for not intervening in Britain’s war, I am not a savior or clairvoyant, and I was never even informed of the matter. Now, you may or may not answer Fury’s question, but I will have mine. Where is Harry Potter, and how is he?”

“Uncle Arcturus? I was told we had guests by the house-elf, but I heard raised voices just now. Is everything all right?”

A voice spoke from just behind Fury’s chair, interrupting the meeting. Immediately, everyone but Diana jumped in surprise and to defend themselves. Fury turned and saw a boy who looked older in stature and face, though he knew Harry must only be ten. The boy’s green eyes shone so brightly that Fury wondered if they would be visible in darkness. His voice carried the tone and emotion of a child, yet Fury still felt unsettled as Harry looked at them.

Fury glanced at Hill and saw even she stiffened when Harry’s eyes passed over her. Fury wondered if this was something every magical child caused, or if it was something special about Harry.  

============

Some days ago.

Harry Potter

Smallville. 

Harry had been staying near one of the long-closed houses near Kent’s farm for the past few days. He had flown over to Smallville and had almost reduced his magic use to a negligible amount so that MACUSA would never know and come to investigate. The last thing Harry needed was any of the big players discovering Superman now.

Clark had been melancholic for two days after he realized the truth, and he even skipped class after leaving his home to spend time with Harry. Harry answered all his questions as much as he could, and even Harry was surprised by how much he genuinely liked Clark within just two days. Kelex was also eager to help, and Harry was glad to hear that Kelex had already established surveillance systems in the internet to monitor any mention of Clark or his powers near Kansas.

Clark had been almost against this illegal act, but Harry managed to convince him otherwise.

On the third day, Clark was sitting on the sofa, tired after running all the way there while wearing the kryptonite locket.

“Here, have this chocolate, my dear friend,” Harry said as he handed him a cup of hot chocolate.

“Thanks, Harry. For everything. I don’t know what I would do without your help and guidance. I was not as tired as yesterday this morning when I activated the kryptonite locket at one percent,” Clark said.

Harry nodded. “Yes, of course, you will not be as affected. I did tell you, your body will start adapting to the exposure slowly and become all the more powerful for it. By the time you are an adult, I am sure only kryptonite inside your body could weaken you immediately.”

Harry, you never told me what happens in the future. So, tell me what happens and I can also prepare for it,” Clark said as he finished his hot chocolate in one gulp.

Harry was briefly jealous, as even he could not drink steaming hot chocolate like that without burning his mouth and tongue.

“Well, for you there is almost nothing, Clark,” Harry finally said. “There is no immediate threat in Smallville, and as far as I know you grew up normally. You helped here and there, but because of your super speed no one noticed it. As for the bigger threats, there is nothing you can do now, and do not worry. I am planning and preparing for them. I will tell you when the time is right.”

Clark frowned at that, and Harry knew an argument was coming.

Harry immediately raised his hand to stop him. “Clark Kent, before you start arguing, let me ask you something. What do you aspire to be in the future? What kind of job do you see yourself doing for a living?”

Harry sighed in relief as he saw Clark actually thinking it through. Finally Clark answered,

“To be honest, Harry, I have not really thought about what I want to do when I am an adult. I am really good in sports, but that is because of my abilities, so I cannot do it. I have noticed I am good at learning too, but I am not that interested in it. I was helping Lana Lang with her school newsletter and I really loved it. I researched things and I really like finding hidden stories. Maybe it was because of my wish to learn what I was. So, I think it would be nice to become a journalist in the future and work for a media company.”

Harry knew almost every Superman he had met worked in the Daily Planet, yet he was still flabbergasted to hear it directly. Even with Harry’s occluded mind, the surprise must have shown on his face because Clark caught it.

“I know, I know,” Clark immediately defended himself, completely misunderstanding Harry’s reaction. “It is a big thing for the son of a farm boy from a place like Smallville to think he could be a journalist in the city, but it is what I want.”

Harry snorted once and seeing the complete confusion in clark;s face harry lost his control and he started laughing. 

Harry snorted, and seeing Clark’s confused face, he lost control and started laughing.

Clark looked embarrassed, his face slowly turning red with irritation. After several seconds of Harry’s laughter not stopping, Clark tried to say something to break it but it was useless. After several minutes Harry stopped, taking deep breaths.

Clark’s embarrassment had turned into genuine anger, and he scowled.

“Is it so funny to hear a farm boy’s ambition, Harry? I never knew you were someone who belittled others’ wishes like that,” Clark snarled.

Harry just snorted and fortunately he could control his laughter by his occulumency.

“Kal-El, I did not laugh because of what you think. I laughed because you think being a journalist is such a big dream. I laughed because even knowing the truth of what you are, you still see yourself as a common farm boy. My friend, even without any enhancement from the sun, you are intelligent enough to do anything here. More than that, your father sent enough knowledge with Kelex that you could use to drag this earth toward a greater future than anyone else. Even without that knowledge, you have enough brains to be one of the best scientists on earth. Kelex, tell me, what was Jor-El’s job on Krypton?”

Kelex appeared in a hologram from Clark’s wrist and looked at him.

“Harry Potter is correct, Master Kal. Your father was the head of the research and science division on Krypton, overseeing every project, and all of them are light-years ahead of current Earth technology. Even without that knowledge, you have immense potential in that field as well as many others.”

Harry, seeing that Kelex might reveal something about the Codex, immediately intervened.

“Thank you, Kelex. Now, Kal, as Kelex said, you could be a scientist, an actor, a politician, a soldier, even a king with your raw power, or even a conqueror. You could just fly away from Earth into space. So much potential. And what do you want? To be a journalist because of your childish crush on a girl?” Harry snipped. “And I will be honest, Clark—in your future you did that. You were a journalist who become quickly popular and recognised as the only one who was granted a interview by Superman himself.”  Harry tried to keep the mocking out of it, but failed miserably. 

Clark’s blush at the crush comment turned into a grimace at the fact that he had interviewed himself and passed it off as top journalism. He shook his head to clear his emotions.

“But Harry, it is as I said, why could I not be a journalist? You say I did it in the future and was successful at it, even though I had to interview myself.”

Harry closed his eyes in exasperation. 

“Come with me, Clark. Close the Kryptonian locket,” Harry said as he walked outside the house.

Harry’s telepathy enveloped all of Kansas, making everyone ignore the sky for several seconds. Without warning, he grabbed Clark’s hand and flew upward with telekinesis. After they had risen hundreds of meters, Harry cast featherweight charms on both of them and increased their speed with flight magic combined with telekinesis. With another burst of magic, they became invisible to all senses, and no muggle camera could detect them.

Clark, initially shocked, then excited, began to panic at the height they reached. After several minutes, Harry’s speed approached the sound barrier. As expected, only Harry’s personal shields made by magic and telekinesis allowed him to withstand the pressure. Clark remained completely safe, even without Harry casting a basic shield on him.

Harry suddenly felt increased temperatire as he broke into stratosphere and harry further increased his speed.

Harry felt the temperature increase as they broke into the stratosphere and pushed his speed further. Clark began shouting as he felt the sudden changes, but his body quickly adapted, fueled by the solar radiation above the ozone layer. Harry had to increase his magical shields to protect himself from the harmful rays of the sun.

Several moments later, they broke into the mesosphere, and Harry stopped, floating in place.

“Kal-El, look at that now,” Harry said telepathically.

Clark, who was yelling in panic now, looked around and realized he was fine. In fact, he felt rather more energized as he looked around. Clark used his eyes and zoomed in. He looked down and saw the ground clearly from where he was. He looked sideways and could see the curvature of Earth and the blueness of it all. He looked upwards and saw the endless blackness of space dotted with wastes and distant twinkles of stars.

Finally, he looked at the yellow sun—the reason for his powers and abilities. He could look at the sun for several seconds before even his eyes were affected, blinking before going blind.

More than that, Clark now could hear almost nothing, and he felt a peace he had almost forgotten before his superhearing was activated. There was nothing in their immediate vicinity except Harry.

“Do you see now, Clark? You are only ten, and you survived the speed I was moving in and the radiation and temperature here without any preparation. Even now, I can feel your body drinking in energy while using it to heal any damage from the harmful effects due to your limited durability and resistance toward extreme things,” Harry’s thought echoed in Clark’s mind.

“I feel wonderful, Harry. Yet I can’t see why I couldn’t be a journalist. I could always fly upwards here while I am free, or when I am Superman,” Clark replied mentally.

Harry almost dropped Clark in irritation, but Harry’s occlumency held the control for now.

“Clarky boy, please tell me why you want to be Superman. I mean, why do you want to use your physical abilities to help others now?”

Clark looked confused but said, “Because I can, and I wanted to help others.”

Harry grinned. “Of course, that is a perfect reason. So now the question is, why don’t you want to help others intellectually and with your knowledge? I mean, if you want to just help physically, you could always do normal voluntary work without ever exposing your true powers too. But you wanted to help physically as Superman. So the question is, why not do the same with your mental talents in the name of Clark Kent?”

Clark looked like he had been struck by a train.

“I… I…” Clark sputtered in confusion. “I don’t know, Harry.”

Harry nodded. “Good, Clark. Finally, you realized the problem. It is as I said—journalism is the first thing that actually interested you, among the things that you understood the first time without any difficulty, making you loose interest in them.  Unlike other things, it interested you because of your childish crush on a girl who aspires it. Clark, we are not someone who could squander our potential on silly things. Let me tell you a great piece of advice that I once heard:

With great power comes greater responsibility.

You could do more as Clark Kent than even Superman to help mankind as a whole, and you wanted to waste it as a journalist. Think, Clark, Think.” 

Harry remained silent as he observed Clark’s surface-level thoughts. Harry’s “trust me” aura was at maximum then, and he was happy seeing Clark actually thinking far faster than normal. Harry could actually keep up if he expended more power. He was even happier that Clark was finally thinking along the lines he wanted.

“Harry, I understand now what you meant. Even Superman can’t punch away diseases or hunger. You are correct, I will always strive to be better now. In fact, I will finish my entire schooling and try to finish it faster so I can get on with it,” Clark said with determination.

Harry groaned as he used a telekinetic slap on the back of Clark’s head.

“No, you idiot. You will not do that. You will study and be the best student, but no quick ways. You must grow up normally so that you have that bond and caring for the little people, Clark. More than that, I lost my childhood long ago. I don’t want you losing yours earlier than required. So have a good normal life for now, while you prepare yourself mentally and physically.”

Clark almost sighed in relief and gratitude as he realized Harry was correct and he wasn’t ready for such heavy pressure yet.

“Thank you, Harry. I don’t know what I would have done without you being here for me as my friend.”

Harry just smiled genuinely before a glint appeared in his green eyes that would have made any Marauder proud.

“It is okay, my dear friend. That is what friends are for—helping and supporting each other. Now let me see if you can unlock flight far earlier than possible.”

Clark was smiling when Harry started talking, and he nodded in acceptance before his eyes widened in alarm.

“Help learning flight? Harry, you bastard, don’t do it!” Clark yelled in panic.

“See you later, Clark,” Harry said with laughter and removed his hold on Clark both physically and telekinetically. For a moment, Clark was stationary before gravity won, and Harry even gave him a telekinetic shove to increase the falling speed.

================================

Authors note:  damn…poor harry.. can’t really go and meet bruce because of unexpected encounters!!!

FD 9

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF  and Marvel characters and all recognizable characters, plots, belong to GRRM and Marvel.  I have no ownership to it.

(this chapter had a link to music in the middle. First time adding one in my fics and curious to see how it helps or ruins the reading.)

Chapter 9 : The Hand of The King.

Kingslanding

1 week later

Septon Barth

Something was deeply wrong with the royal family, Barth thought, as he observed them during a private luncheon to which he had been invited. The queen had still not graced the Red Keep with her presence, even after the return of the king and the princess from the Dragonpit one week ago. Barth had been almost drowned in lords and duties for the past week as King’s Landing prepared for the tourney to celebrate the victory over the damned Dornish. Even with all the work, Barth found some time to meet with the king and the princes individually to learn what had happened in the Dragonpit. To his complete dismay, all three were tight-lipped, and the only thing he could confirm was that Prince Gaemon had bonded with the Black Dread.

Barth was initially surprised that he had not been shocked by the news. After some pondering, he came to the conclusion that it had been inevitable. The prince had an extraordinary affinity with animals, more than anyone Barth had ever known. He had often seen Gaemon spending time with Balerion whenever he visited the Dragonpit to continue his book.

Now, as he observed the royal family and thought through all his interactions while eating, Barth suddenly came to a disturbing realization. What was wrong was not Gaemon, but Prince Aemon and Prince Baelon. Their lack of respect toward him was striking compared to how they had treated him before the war. In the past, the princes had listened to him with the respect due to the Hand of the King, the second most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. But now, he was subtly dismissed and burdened almost entirely with the grunt work of preparing the tourney. Worse still, there was a faint look of pity in the eyes of Prince Aemon and Princess Alyssa that he could not ignore.

Barth nearly stopped eating in panic, but he forced his face into calm neutrality and continued to chew while listening to the princesses complain about inane things. He thought back over his activities, trying to discern how the Targaryens had turned against him. He had served with all his skill and talent in the duties assigned to him, never making any move against their interests. Whatever he had done was subtle and never substantive. Of course, he had shared with the Grand Maester whatever secrets he had pried from the mouths of dragonkeepers, so they might one day discover a weakness in the beasts. But they had ever acted upon that knowledge—it had remained only in thought. No one could know of it, no one could punish them for it except the Seven themselves.

The luncheon drew to a close, and the king dismissed everyone except Barth.

“Your Grace?” Barth asked with a frown.

“Barth, my friend,” the king said with a faint, sad smile. “I can see the last month, especially this past week, has taken a toll on you. How are you?”

Barth hid his alarm. This was the first time the king had shown him such personal concernfor his well-being.

“Well, my king, the work has been hectic, but by now I am an expert at it and it is all right. Of course, if I could rest, I would, but serving you and the realm comes first for me. Such is the life I chose, after all,” Barth said with a smile so carefully composed that few could see it for the mask it was.

“Yes, yes, Barth. You have served the realm, and me especially, very well,” the king replied with an approving smile. “How many years has it been now? Nearly twenty-five that you have served as Hand of the King. Who would have thought? A septon, sworn to serve the Seven, has ruled the kingdom in my stead for such a long time.”

“It is a blessing from the Seven themselves, my king,” Barth said with a warm smile, though his mind raced to guess where this conversation was leading. “I believe serving the realm, where the Andals reside, is another form of service to the Seven, Your Grace.”

The king nodded. “Of course. You can be proud of what you have achieved, my friend. Still, I feel guilty for depriving you of the path you once chose for yourself. You wished to serve as a septon, and I pulled you into my council because of your skills and talents. I was selfish then, a young man eager to make things better after the reign of the last king. Now, everything better, but the Dornish war and the events of last week have made me realize many things.”

The king’s gaze turned blank, as though his mind had drifted far away.

“Your Grace?” Barth prompted, his tension mounting with the suspense.

The king shook his head and then smiled faintly.

“My friend, I think it is time I showed more care for those who serve me so loyally. My firstborn son, Aemon, has been exemplary and performed wonders in thwarting the Dornish. He is my heir and the future king. I believe it would be better for him to gain experience in ruling now, rather than learning on the throne as I did. The fact that this would also give you well-deserved rest and relief is a blessing. Septon Barth, I thank you for your service as Hand of the King. I intend to name Aemon as the next Hand on the last day of the tourney. He will shadow you until then to see and learn what the Hand does.”

Barth’s eyes widened in shock, and his heart pounded with anger. Still, he forced himself to breathe deeply and restrain his feelings.

“Your Grace,” Barth exclaimed with a bow, “I thank you for considering me, but I must inform you that I am still willing to serve you as I always have. You need not do this for my sake.”

Jaehaerys waved his hand, dismissing the plea.

“No, my friend, this is a reward for both you and Aemon. You deserve to enjoy your time from now on. I will hear no more of this. My decision is made.”

Barth bowed at once. “Of course, Your Grace. I thank you for your consideration. I will meet with the prince and speak to him about learning from me until the tourney.”

The king dismissed him, and Barth nearly ran from the hall, seething with frustration.

============================================

Barth entered the chamber where he and Grand Maester Elysar had agreed to meet that evening.

“Elysar,” Barth greeted him in Old Andalos, a language now only taught to those of the Enlightened. This secretive order was divided into two groups: the High Septon and the Archmaesters. Their aim was to guide the realm toward peace and to illuminate the path of man to Faith and science. Magic had no place in their vision of the world, and they had worked for centuries in the shadows to diminish it. The irony that their greatest success came when they started supporting a magical dragonlord like Aegon the conqueror always made Barth laugh. 

“Barth, you look as though you carry dire news, my friend,” Elysar replied in the same tongue. “Have you finally discovered what the devil prince did in the Dragonpit?”

Barth gritted his teeth, though he knew he could not afford to show open anger or defeat.

“No. As I told you before, everyone remains tight-lipped, and the rumors are so absurd they are not worth repeating. But I do have bad news. The king has finally decided to reward my loyal service with rest and relaxation. I am no longer to be Hand after the tourney. Prince Aemon will be the next Hand,” Barth said bitterly.

For a moment Elysar smirked, ready to mock the septon’s failure as he always did. Then the words sank in, and his face hardened.

“What? You are not to remain Hand? That is madness. Why should you accept it?” Elysar snapped.

“I had no choice, you fool. It was an order from the king,” Barth snarled.

“This is a disaster. We need more time to uncover whatever magic they have and to destroy their knowledge of it. We still have no idea how to poison the dragons or their eggs. Worse, we have no access to them. Our only conduit was you, and all you managed were scraps from dragonkeepers with your pitiful attempts to gather information for your precious book,” Elysar said with open disdain.

Barth had to take several deep breaths to stop himself from striking the arrogant maester. A man who had never navigated the dangers of court life dared to sneer at him with such contempt.

“Well, I don’t see how the maesters have done any better. It was the first High Septon and Lord Hightower who decided to surrender when Aegon came to Oldtown, while the maesters wanted nothing to do with him. It was our plan that placed a maester in every castle, overseeing taxes and accounts. Before that, you were confined to the Reach and to a handful of fools who accepted any maester sent from the Citadel. Your order was so pathetic that not a single lord joined the Faith’s cause against the Maegor the Cruel when we needed it most even when all maesters were asked to advice the lords to join in the rebellion” Barth said with derision.

Elysar scoffed. “That is because we were not fools willing to fight Balerion. I have studied the records. The Archmaesters refused to aid or bless the Faith’s rebellion. It was your order that believed peasants with pitchforks and blind devotion could overthrow dragons. We warned you, and look what happened—Faith Militant broken, your strength shattered, and a septon forced to draft the Doctrine of Exceptionalism instead of leading men against it.”

Barth fell silent, for he had no answer.

“Barth,” Elysar said at last, his tone sharp, “are you certain Balerion is dying? Otherwise, a prince capable of riding him only makes our options worse.”

“Of course he is dying. My eyes are trained, and I have seen the wounds worsening. His scales grow pale, and the sores deepen. What Aerea carried within her was nightmarish, and I am certain similar abominations are eating the Black Dread from within—slowly and, I pray, painfully.”

“It has been decades, and yet the Black Dread endures, even while being devoured by monsters. And you idiots once believed peasants with pitchforks and fanatic zeal would defeat him,” Elysar said with mirth, mocking Barth once again.

Barth, already frayed by the week’s events, finally snapped. Rage surged, and his hand twitched with the urge to strike the maester. Only by shutting his eyes and taking two steps back did he stop himself from swinging.

“It seems your arrogance, your worship of intellect and knowledge, has made this meeting pointless. I am leaving before I do something I regret,” Barth growled, turning on his heel and storming out of the chamber.

================================

Weeks later

Barth looked out proudly over the tourney grounds as Prince Baelon jousted against one of the Kingsguard. He felt satisfaction swell in his chest—it was his hard work and skill that had made the tourney such a success. Yet the pride was bittersweet. He knew the king was using him for the last time as Hand of the King. Even so, Barth wanted to leave his mark upon the post before stepping down. He wanted Jaehaerys to know that no replacement would ever match what he had done as Hand for over two decades.

Even now, rumors were spreading among the nobles about why Prince Aemon had been seen trailing and assisting Septon Barth so closely in the last month. Barth knew everything would become clear when the king announced his new Hand at the feast in the Red Keep that evening.

Barth clapped politiel while the crowd went ballistic as prince baelon won the joust.

Barth clapped politely while the crowd went ballistic as Prince Baelon won the joust.

The prince took the crown of flowers and, as usual, crowned his wife, Princess Alyssa, further increasing the cheers and claps of the crowd.

The king stood after some time, and Barth’s smile vanished as it was not in the plans. Barth wondered what the king had to announce to the public like this.

It was then that Barth noticed another thing that he had not ordered. As the crowd was entertained by Prince Baelon and his crowning of Alyssa, dozens of men were running around the tourney ground clearing the railing dividing the joust area, and to Barth’s amazement almost all the tents of participants had already been cleared, making a rather open ground. Barth’s eyes widened slightly as a horrific thought came to him. A dragon was going to land, and he wondered what the king was planning now to make a spectacle of.

The crowd was still hollering, and the sound was immense, such that even when the king stood and the caller shouted, it was not enough to quiet them. Suddenly a loud trumpet from a war horn blew from the sidelines. Barth looked sideways and saw three horn-blowers that immediately pierced the sound of the crowd and sent an adrenaline burst through everyone’s blood to prepare for something. The horn-blowers were surrounded by a dozen people holding the drums that were used to signal in wars.

As the crowd’s sound reduced in volume, Barth started hearing the low drumbeats, and to his amazement the drumbeats increased in intensity as the crowd reduced their volume, until there was no sound except the drumbeats, which rose to their highest intensity. The drummers ended it with a rapid burst of beats, and even before the crowd could start cheering, a piercing whistle of something nasty hit the entire crowd and made them hiss.

Barth immediately knew it was the sound of Valyrian steel on Valyrian steel, and he looked around to see who was responsible, but no one was visible. Barth looked at the king, and to his surprise Blackfyre was missing from the king’s waist, and he understood it was a planned sound from the beginning.

“All hail His Grace, King Jaehaerys Targaryen, King of the First Men, Andals, and Rhoynar, Protector of the Realm.”

The king stepped forward to the edge of the king’s platform so all could see him. There was pin-drop silence among the crowd from the intensity of the king and the tense atmosphere. Barth felt something was missing, and with wide eyes he realized it was the wind itself. Somehow even the air had stilled, as if something momentous was going to happen.

“My lords, ladies, and my people of Westeros, I know you enjoyed this celebration as much as I did, and it was a worthy cause to celebrate. The cursed Dornish felt it was their right to harm the good people of Westeros and attacked us. And your king and his sons protected you and ended the Dornish foolishness in a single day. It took three dragons to end their armada, and we are proud of it. Yet the question remains: why would the Dornish dare to attack dragonlords now? It is the Dornish today. Would the pirates dare to attack us tomorrow? Will the slavers try to kidnap the good citizens of Westeros into the abomination that is slavery? Where did they find the courage to attack?”

“I will tell you where the courage comes from. The courage came because they knew our greatest protector since the Doom, the greatest dragon alive today, Balerion the Black Dread, had been injured and no one was able to bond with him. Their courage came because my niece Aerea went with the Black Dread to cursed Valyria and stopped the monster there from ever emerging and ending this whole world, both Essos and Westeros.” Jaehaerys stopped for several heartbeats, waiting for the gasps and whispers to stop at the proclamation. It didn’t until Jaehaerys raised his hand to signal silence from the crowd.

Barth’s eyes widened at the blatant lie, but even he heard the open gasp and amazement from the crowd. To his further surprise, he heard the slight sound of drums in the background. It was pure background noise and nothing more, and yet it added to what the king said.

“Yes, my beloved people, it was those life-threatening injuries that gave them the courage to attack us. The Black Dread helped my grandfather, Aegon the Conqueror, to unite this realm and grant it his protection. The Black Dread helped my cursed cruel predecessor end the foolish rebellion and betrayal from selfish people who infiltrated the Faith of the Seven, poisoning the minds of sons and daughters who was under the protection of its wings.”

Barth didn’t know how he didn’t almost run to the king and attack him then and there for such a blatant lie and disrespect, but what made him almost lose his heart was the crowd’s reaction. The crowd was eating everything up as if it was divine gospel. Barth, who had conducted many a divine meeting and blessing, had never seen such a reaction from crowds. The drumbeats upped their tempo again.

“And now, when we were threatened again, my son Prince Gaemon Targaryen decided it was time for Balerion to offer his protection again and claimed the Black Dread as his dragon, not knowing the wounds of Balerion were life-threatening even for the bonded rider. But the gods understood that his thought was only for protection and blessed them. Yes, my people, Balerion the Black Dread’s two decades of life-threatening injuries have been completely healed by the gods themselves. I give you the protector of the people, Prince Gaemon Targaryen and the Black Dread.”

The drumbeats increased drastically, sending excitement and adrenaline through the crowd, who started cheering wildly in exuberance. For Barth, the drums allowed him to take breaths, as he had been frozen in panic, not even breathing, ever since the king said Balerion had been healed completely.

It went on for several heartbeats before everything was overpowered by one roar from the sky. It was like a thunderstorm of epic proportions. As the roar vanished, the drumbeats were heard again, increasing in intensity once more.

Then there was the sound of wind, and everyone looked upwards into the distance. Above the open water there was a slight black dot that grew larger and larger with every beat of the drum. The maester looked at Barth in absolute disdain as the black dot became the shape of a bird, and only several heartbeats later the entire ground was shadowed black as the sun vanished under the bulk of the Black Dread.

“That speed…” Barth whispered horrifically, as it was something not seen or recorded before.

The drumbeats increased in volume as the drummers panted like they were running at full speed. They sweated enough and looked as though they are under rain, yet their eyes gleamed with the excitement of fanatics making their masterpiece. There was no hitch or slowing in the drumbeats, and the crowd, who had frozen in fear when the shadow first covered them, now began cheering and whistling again, forgetting everything in the excitement generated by the music.

Finally the Black Dread landed in the cleared ground with a sound that deafened almost everyone and overpowered the drummers’ finale. Just as the sound of landing ended, the drummers struck their final beat with one last big hit.

Barth shook his head to clear his eyes as he couldn’t believe the sight of Balerion. The black scales, pale the last time he saw them, were now gleaming and shining. There were no injuries, and to Barth’s horror even old battle scars had vanished, replaced by new scales.

The silence was broken by the sound of boots, and every eye looked at the Black Dread. A silhouette was clear because of the sun above, and yet a prince was walking over the back of the Black Dread. The boy walked down, and even with the slanted surface the prince walked upright and steady somehow.

The prince landed on the ground with a thud and bent his knee slightly to compensate for the fall. Barth was curious how the prince’s knees stayed in place from the height through which he jumped. Prince Gaemon walked forward to the king’s platform and bowed slightly while bending on one knee.

“Your Grace, I have bonded with Balerion with your blessings, and another loyal son of House Targaryen is ready to defend our land from scum and villainy.” The sound of Prince Gaemon echoed around the grounds in supplication.

Septon Barth almost lost his seat as he nearly yelled his thoughts out loud.

‘What kind of utter bullshit is this?’

Barth knew the relation between Gaemon and the king, and the king had never given permission or ever would. This screamed of a cover-up, and yet Barth wondered what kind of bribe the queen and king had given the feral prince to make him do this.

To the amazed gasp of the crowd, the king walked down from the platform while Prince Gaemon still knelt. The king reached him and raised his right hand sideways as if demanding something. Barth looked around and saw Prince Aemon coming from the sidelines, almost running to reach the king and the kneeling prince. Prince Aemon placed Blackfyre hilt-first in the king’s hand.

The king drew the sword from its sheath and placed the flat edge on Gaemon’s shoulder.

“No, no, no,” Barth whispered as he realized the king was going to knight his ten-year-old son, the most uncouth child Barth had ever seen. Barth couldn’t remember what happened next, as he was so immersed in his horrified thoughts. The next thing he recalled was Prince Gaemon rising to his feet as a knight, and the absolute deafening cheer from the crowd.

The king raised his hand to control the crowd’s silence for the next announcement after basking for some time in their wild happiness and love. Even then the cheer was not silencing fast enough, and a horn was blown in the background.

The crowd became quiet enough for the king to be heard.

“Beloved people of Westeros, long have we lost the protective shadow of Balerion’s wings, and long have we suffered from enemies who dared to attack us. I say no more. The dragons have been chained long enough, and I say no more. My son, the youngest knight of the Seven Kingdoms, will do his duty and he will fly over us to protect us from now on. For that I am grateful to my son, Prince Gaemon.” The king finished with a loud yell of the name while raising his hands to clap thrice.

But it was enough for the crowds. The yell of the name and the exuberance of the crowd were enough to make even thoughts vanish from Barth’s mind, leaving only one name in his mind for several minutes.

Gaemon!

Gameon!!

Gameon!!!

Authors note:  so any guesses what made Gaemon follow the script.  The king nicely managed to become more beloved while freeing the dragons and sending messages to enemies all at the same time…

 and yeah I gave Gaemon a cinematic entry scene!!!

Next chapter:  various targs pov after the meeting in dragonpit and logan’s  revelation of memories/dreams of another life….   

ADS 43

Chapter 43 : Conversations

Dragonstone

Couple of days ago

Lyanna Mormont

Lyanna gazed in wonder as the island of Dragonstone came into view, the jagged cliffs rising stark against the sea. Twice they circled the black rock before descending, the winds lashing her hair as the dragon wheeled through the sky. At last they came upon the smoking slopes of the Dragonmount, where Caraxes settled upon the ash-strewn ground with scarcely a sound. For a beast of such vast size, the dragon could be the perfect predator when needed.

Lyanna was reluctant to dismount, even though she was slightly tired from the arduous journey. But needs must, and Daemon looked at her with a smirk, probably noticing her forlorn expression as she gazed at Caraxes with melancholy.

“Come on, get down. I cannot wait for you to say your goodbyes to Caraxes here and then meet the castellan, who will show you to your quarters,” Daemon said.

Lyanna nodded, and she dismounted with such ease and smoothness that all the dragonkeepers stared at her in wonder. She ignored their looks as she walked toward Caraxes’s head, brushing aside the warnings of the dragonkeepers, and petted the dragon while projecting courtesy and gratitude.

Caraxes rumbled in satisfaction at her touch, and at last Lyanna turned toward the doors of the castle proper, where Daemon was waiting.

She cast one last glance back at Caraxes, her thoughts drifting to the wonder of their flight as she closed her eyes.

She had whooped with joy while holding on to the ropes of the saddle on Caraxes. Fortunately for her, the saddle was designed so that three riders could travel in comfort, and Lyanna was glad she had not been forced to cling to Daemon. Truthfully, she had missed the feeling of flying, though she wondered how she could long for something she had only experienced a few times when her grandfather had once taken her into the skies.

Daemon had tried, time and again, to rattle her. He urged Caraxes into sudden plunges, sharp turns, perilous dives, each meant to draw fear from her lips. Instead he had earned only her laughter, her delighted whoops ringing above the sea. His frown at her joy had been a small victory she savored. Yet even in her elation, she had thought how much farther they might have flown had Caraxes not squandered his strength in such useless flourishes.

When she opened her eyes again, they gleamed with determination. She had decided. She would claim a dragon of her own before returning to the North, whatever the consequences might be.

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Lyanna looked over the balcony towards the sky from the guest room assigned to her by the castellan under the orders of Prince Daemon Targaryen. The castellan had first tried to place her in one of the lesser quarters, but a single harsh glare from her, using one of the techniques she had picked up from her father, froze him to the spot. He quickly changed the assignment to the larger and better quarters.

Lyanna had bathed and changed into one of the finer dresses she had brought with her. She was about to rest in the soft, feathery bed when someone knocked on the door.

She had already warged into a black cat that she had broken earlier, and it now lay in the corridor outside her chamber. Closing her eyes, she slipped into its mind and to her surprise saw a knight of the Kingsguard standing there.

She wondered whether it was the queen or the king who had sent him.

Opening the door, she looked at the knight. “Ser?”

“Lady Mormont,” the knight said with a slight bow, “the king has sent me to escort you to him. He is waiting in the chamber with the Painted Table.”

Lyanna simply nodded. “Aye, then. It is good to have an escort, for I do not yet know my through this surprisingly complex castle.”

The knight only nodded.

Lyanna smirked to herself as he looked away down the hall while they walked. In truth, she already knew exactly where the table was. Through the eyes of her cat she had explored nearly all the public areas of the castle, and she possessed an excellent memory.

When she entered the chamber, she curtsied before the king, her great-grandfather.

“Your Grace,” she said with a bow.

The king dismissed the Kingsguard to stand outside, leaving them alone in the room.

“Lyanna, it is good to see you at last, my dear granddaughter,” the king said with a smile.

Lyanna scrutinized his face to judge whether the greeting was false. To her surprise, there was a touch of genuine warmth in his expression.

“I am surprised by that greeting, Your Grace,” Lyanna replied as her eyes drifted from the old king to the famous Painted Table.

Her eyes widened in wonder at the accuracy of the map of the realm. She studied the northern portion and wondered how it had been commissioned without the kingdoms noticing dragons flying above them, scouting before the Conquest.

“Surprised?” the king asked. “I do know of my prodigal grandson’s daughter and his other bastards, though even I could not keep the final tally of them all. If I had my way, you would have been wed to Daemon instead of that Royce. Alas, my wife hated the idea and it never happened.”

Lyanna snorted at the thought of being betrothed to Daemon.

“Well then, grandmother did you a great service, my king. I would never marry such a man now. That betrothal would have been rejected outright, and if you had pressed it, I simply have run away.”

Jaehaerys’s smile vanished as he studied her.

“You reject a prince of the blood, a dragonlord at that?” he asked.

Lyanna scoffed. “A prince of the blood? What a meaningless, self-boasting title. My own blood is far more precious than Daemon Targaryen’s, Your Grace. I am the daughter of Daemon Snow. As for dragonlord, I have yet to meet an unclaimed dragon, but all animals love me as they always do. I am certain I could bond with any unclaimed dragon if I wished, so it is hardly an achievement. Especially when dragons are bound to like you simply because of your ancestors. Where is the adventure or thrill in achieving something not with legacy but with your own hands and talent?”

The king remained silent, observing her.

“I see you have inherited not only some of Daemon Snow’s abilities but also some of his traits. Or perhaps you are simply emulating him, hoping he will care for you more, you in his travels, or finally stay by your side?” the king asked with a smirk.

Lyanna’s eyes widened in shock. She had never imagined the old king, who had never even laid eyes on her before, could guess so precisely.

“How did you know that?” she snapped.

The king laughed. “I am an old man, Lyanna. I know people and what they usually think or desire. I recently met Daemon Snow, and now, seeing you, the similarity is plain. The fact that the other Daemon did disclose why you are here and the other meeting he had with you also helped me very much.  So, you are the only living person besides Aethan Reed who actually witnessed my daughter’s wedding.” His tone grew grim at the last words.

“Aye, Your Grace,” Lyanna said, a touch of embarrassment and guilt creeping into her voice. “It was only due to Fenrir that I was able to see it. I am angry at him for that and I could see how even you would be angered to miss your own daughter’s wedding or the fact that they did it without your permission or blessings.”

Jaehaerys waved away her words. “I am only disappointed in missing it, and more angered by how it reflects on House Targaryen’s reputation. Nothing more. What is done is done, and as always, I will deal with it. What I am more curious about is you. Do you not fear angering your king by rejecting a betrothal suggested by me, or by implying you could steal a dragon from me?”

Lyanna noticed that the old king had the spark of curiosity  and wonder in his eyes as he questioned her.  There was obviously some other reason for him to ask this, she knew that,  but for the life of her, she couldn’t see why The King would bother anyway.

“Since you ask so directly, I will answer the same way, Your Grace. I am proud of my abilities. Even if you made me a prisoner in my chamber, I could easily escape. Even if dozens of men-at-arms were waiting outside, I could fight my way free, for I could take you hostage. I hope you remember the tale of the Red Death. I am nearly half that level now. Even if you managed to subdue or kill me, you would lose everything, for my father would come for his share of blood. And since you met my father after he ran away with your daughter and yet gave no order against him, I know you are pragmatic enough not to rouse a sleeping dragon.” Lyanna said with a shrug of indifference.

To her surprise, Jaehaerys did not grow angry. Instead, she sensed amusement and even relief from him, as though she had confirmed something he already suspected.

“So, my dear granddaughter, even without the name Targaryen, you have our pride and arrogance in spades with the power to back it up. Yet, if you are so sure of your father caring and loving you enough to start a war against me and five kingdoms, I don’t see why you are so insecure about your father not being there with you or for not including you in his travels.  Let this be the one lesson I will give you, Do not emulate your father to impress them or make them care for you if they already don’t. Your own father daemon was hated by Aemon half his life and Daemon didn’t cared enough to do anything to get his attention or even impress him.   am glad I could meet you before our family gathering, but unfortunately, it is only for those of the Targaryen name.” The king’s smile carried a mocking edge.

Lyanna looked with curiosity at the king as she did register a very mocking grin from the king while he adviced her regarding emulating one’s father. 

Lyanna tilted her head, noting that mocking grin while he gave his counsel.

“Oh, it is no matter, grandfather,” she said lightly. “I will leave after I get my first clue of where my father is. And thank you for your wisdom. Perhaps I will rethink some things after all.”

Jaehaerys nodded. “Do not leave for a week, Lyanna. I am certain you will see your father here, rather than anywhere else. Also, when you leave, do not attempt to claim a dragon. You are a Mormont. If you wish to claim one, marry a Targaryen. Aegon is still unwed, and I would gladly accept it and arrange the betrothal if you wished for it.”

Lyanna snorted. “No thank you, my king. I do not think marriage is for me, not now at least. I can always wait to claim a dragon.” She finished with a pointed grin that softened into a warm pointed smile aimed at the King.

The king almost agreed before he caught himself and glared.

“Did you just try to charm your way out of the order I gave you?” Jaehaerys demanded in surprise.

“Well, I had to at least try,” Lyanna replied with a shrug. “It almost always works on  father.”

Jaehaerys was bewildered by that answer and silently was thankful that Lyanna had not grown up in King’s Landing. Perhaps it would have affected him, if he had known her from childhood.

Lyanna left the chamber once dismissed, but she allowed her cat to remain behind, hidden, to observe. She was curious about the secret family meeting that was about to happen.

Lyanna had used the cat to sneak into the family meeting, and she could admit that she was surprised more than once. She had met the king, her great-grandfather, only once before and their meeting had been good. Yet she could not reconcile that kind, gracious king with the monster she saw in this gathering.

She was happy when her father appeared, acting as nonchalant as ever. She would have openly grinned in joy if she could when the king declared him legitimate and named him a Targaryen. Even though her father did not care in the slightest about being called a bastard and always considered it irrelevant, the word had stung her whenever arrogant nobles used it in front of her. She always put them down with words and found ways to get back at them, of course, but she had never been able to make an example of them physically. Now there was a chance. The king had legitimized him, and to call him “bastard” or “Snow” again would be to go against the king’s own decree.

Then, when the king named her father as his next heir, she nearly lost control of the cat in shock. She had thought it would end in bloodshed when the king even went so far as to threaten disowning both him and Gael.

The next revelation finally made her understand why her earlier meeting with the king had been so unexpectedly friendly and answered some of her lingering doubts. The king had been seeking confirmation of her father’s love for her and for his children, making sure he could use that bond to keep Daemon tied to him.

The pragmatic side of her, sharpened under the training of Uncle Cregan and her father, almost admired the king’s cleverness and strength of will. But another part of her burned with anger at being exploited so easily. She had fallen for the game without even realizing it.

Perhaps the king would not have gambled so boldly if he had not received confirmation from her own lips, Lyanna thought bitterly as she slipped out of the cat’s body once the meeting dispersed.

======================================

t was the next morning, while looking for her father, that Lyanna’s thoughts registered another fact.

My father is the heir now, and he will be the next king. I would be the first-born daughter of the king. Will I be called a princess from now on, or would I inherit the kingdom?

Lyanna immediately scoffed at the thought. She was a Mormont, and whatever happened, her place was in the North, not here. She knew she was adventurous and craved it, but she also knew she would always return home.

She shook her head, clearing away such irrelevant thoughts, as she saw her father standing in Aegon’s garden.

“Lyanna. I have been waiting for you,” Daemon said seriously, and for a moment Lyanna froze, as if she had been called out by her father after being caught doing something she shouldn’t. She quickly shook her head, dismissing the silly thought, for she was in the right this time. It was her father who had gone off on his adventures for years and then married without even telling her. The idea that her father thought he could kill someone as a sacrifice after leading them on for years was absurd to her. She fully believed her father had lied to the Targaryen about that for some reason or another, maybe just to make the Queen more mad.

“No. You just didn’t do that. I am not a little girl that you can wave your words at and make me believe I was in the wrong while you are always correct,” Lyanna snapped as she almost ran to him and threw a punch at his face. She missed, as usual, because Daemon easily dodged her attempt.

Daemon lost his seriousness, and Lyanna grew even more enraged when she saw the grin on his face.

Her hand went to Longclaw, and she tightened her grip on the hilt. She would have drawn it and swung at him if she didn’t know it would be utterly pointless.

“Oh, come on, dear daughter, it used to work on you—and even almost did just now,” Daemon replied. “So, what brought you to the South?”

“What brought me here?” Lyanna snapped back. “You really have to ask that? You went on to marry, and not only did you not invite me, you didn’t even tell me! If not for Fenrir, I would not even have known about it. At least he cares for me more than you.”

“Fenrir? What do you mean, Fenrir? He allowed you to warg him?” Daemon asked, and Lyanna saw genuine surprise on her father’s face.

“Aye, he did. He even nudged me to do it. And when I warged, there it was—uncle Aethan standing as the joiner, and you marrying the princess,” Lyanna replied.

Daemon just waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing aside her sorrow. “Believe me, daughter, it was as much a surprise for me as for you, and not planned at all. Also, don’t worry. There will probably be a proper wedding in King’s Landing during the celebratory tourney for the new heir. You may be invited—if you can behave like a good noble lady.”

Lyanna snorted. “You are a menace, father. I really want to teach you a lesson. You are fortunate that you were blessed by the gods to be born as you are. Imagine running away with the king’s Daughter and then getting rewarded with being the heir to the kingdom even if it comes with headaches, just because of your abilities. I am glad that atleast the king found something to punish you with for marrying like that because I can’t do anything, even with me improving so much after all those ridiculous training.”

Her smile vanished as Daemon’s eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Really, daughter? Hypocrite much?” Daemon said. “There is nothing blessed about where I am today. I may have been born with certain abilities, but everything I am now was achieved only through my blood, sweat, and tears. It is neither luck nor blessing—it is years of hard work and planning. A lesser man would have avoided the pain and grit believing that his abilities would save him, but not me. I seem to remember teaching you this lesson years ago, when you mocked those lesser than you in your pride and arrogance. I thought you had learned, because you have worked hard ever since to improve yourself. Beware, daughter. Any child born to me from now on will be able to surpass even your physical and magical power with half the effort you put in. Now, take out your sword. It is time to beat this lesson into you again, hard consistent work and skill will always prevail over natural talent without any hard-work, while I make myself comfortable with my new blade.”

Lyanna groaned in frustration as she nearly got slashed open; her father had moved the moment he finished speaking. Only her speed in dodging saved her from two weeks of pain and healing.

====================================

Daemon ‘The Red Death’ Targaryen

Heir to the Seven Kingdoms.

I fed my daughter one of the potions as she lay groaning in pain on her bed from all the training. After Daemon the Younger went off to his important business of brooding while flying, I had sparred with Lyanna for hours until she couldn’t even move her arms anymore.

During the night after the meeting, I had tried to glimpse through green-seeing what Lyanna had discussed with my grandfather, but I was sure it was then that the king realized his insane gamble would work easily. I loved Lyanna, and I could not imagine her surviving any attempt at dragon taming with her current strength without the Valyrian magic in us. More than that, I could not afford the risk of being killed by the Walkers when the inevitable war happens. All my blood not being able to claim dragons is something will weaken us immensely. I shuddered to think what would happen if I were killed by them and raised back. With even one percent of Doomsday’s adaptability and my rotten luck, I might regain my mind yet still be under the control of the Walkers. I did not want that fate at all, because I hate slavery and lack of freedom to whatever I want.

I sat beside her on the bed, massaging her head. One of my flat-end strikes had been too strong, and I had lost control for a second. Lyanna had nearly fainted from it, and only adrenaline and rage had kept her conscious.

In a way, I was fortunate—my task had become easier than my original plan—but I was still disappointed that I had to concede and accept the consolation prize of the Seven Kingdoms. I almost scoffed aloud, because who was I kidding? I had only six kingdoms. Dorne was not part of my realm—yet. Still, grandfather had been right in some respects. It was far better to begin with six kingdoms under decades of steady administration than to inherit a war-torn crown after the Dance. Especially when I had done practically nothing for it and it was handed to me on a silver platter. For the lazy man in me, who had delegated all my plans for the North to my grandfather and now to Cregan, this was a golden opportunity.

Yet, for some reason, I felt heavy and disappointed in myself. At least training Lyanna allowed us to air our frustrations and satisfy the craving to strike something. I smiled as I saw Lyanna had fallen asleep in tiredness and by my own massaging of her head. 

“So this is the daughter I have heard nothing about, even though you mentioned your plan to elevate human strength by leaving your bastards everywhere,” Gael said as she entered the room.

I studied her face but found nothing I could read. Even my empathy sense could not pick up anything—she had muted her emotions and consciousness. It was a very good and simple technique, similar to the vanishing trick Toga used in MHA, except here Gael had used it to vanish her mental presence while leaving her physical form visible. For someone who had lived unseen in the shadows as a wallflower for years, Gael had easily developed it after being overwhelmed by our bond and my overflowing thoughts.

And hence, for a second, I didn’t know what to say before deciding to go casual. 

“Aye, this is Lyanna Mormont, heiress of Bear Island and my firstborn child. I am not a hypocrite like other parents who claim they have no favorites. I will gladly admit she is my favorite among my many children. Perhaps it is because she is the only one I have ever personally interacted with—but she is my favorite nonetheless,” I said with a small warm smile, my fingers still moving gently through her hair.

Gael remained silent for several heartbeats before breaking into a broad, kind smile.

“You look simply spectacular, Daemon. I can’t wait to see what you’ll be like when our child is born,” Gael exclaimed.

I nearly failed to hide my grimace at that. I had not yet decided when we should have a legitimate child, especially now that our situation had changed because I had accepted the position of heir. I had many plans to secure the loyalty of the people and lords before Jaehaerys’s death, to ensure my idiotic cousins would have little chance of starting a war. Gael had her part to play in those plans, and I could not allow her to vanish for months during pregnancy and recovery. She seemed to notice my silence and her smile faded.

“What is it now, Daemon?” Gael asked, frowning in irritation.

“I think this is not the right time, Gael. We need to be prepared for our ascension, and I cannot have you disappearing from the public eye for months during this period. Even though I am almost certain of our survival, a child complicates matters. It becomes an easy target for my cousins should they rebel, and their best chance will be when the king dies. Even with my potions, the king may not live long enough for our child to grow safely.”

Gael opened her mouth to argue, then closed it in deep thought, as if registering the truth of what I said.

“Daemon, I know you are tired after the slaughter in the Stepstones and from not even sleeping after yesterday’s horrible meeting, but you seem to forget that we have been rutting like rabbits for days. Do you even know how many times you spilled inside me? I may already be with child,” Gael said with a shrug.

My eyes widened in shock, and I almost cursed aloud before glancing at the sleeping form of Lyanna, forcing myself to whisper.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I muttered as my mind raced through countless contingencies. I did not fear winning a war if it came to that, but it would be such a waste of time and coin—and too much of a risk for my child.

Gael looked concerned as she heard my whispered curses. She came near, sat on the bed beside me, and wrapped her arms around me.

“Daemon, how are you? I have never seen you like this before. You always looked in control of everything, brimming with confidence bordering on arrogance. Now you look… shaken.”

I remained silent as I processed her question.

“You are right, my dear. I am disappointed in myself regarding this entire matter. I was forced to accept it. And I was shocked by the magic Jaehaerys revealed—and the truth that he is Maegor’s son. I never knew that, and I wonder what else I don’t know. No… the problem is not ignorance, it is that I may be wrong about things I believe wholeheartedly. Worse, I cannot bear that I was made to accept this without a fight. Even now I have a half a mind to just say fuck it and have my way forcefully.”

Gael grew thoughtful, then answered softly. “I know you must have verified what you could, Daemon. Don’t trouble yourself too much now. Perhaps the difference is a good one. Look at my own vision. I saw a bard seducing me, betraying me, and leading to my death. But instead of a bard, I found you—and now I am to be queen. Maybe my father being a bastard himself is a good thing because he was able to swallow his pride and come to the pragmatic choice of making you his heir over starting a fight between his own daughter and grandson over prickled pride. Also, I am not worried about your pride at all.  You controlled your lust for me when I was begging for it for two years and if you could that, I am pretty sure that controlling your pride and anger is something, you could do easily. You waited two years because you believed the reward was worth it. Now you just need to see the reward here as well.”

I remained silent as I thought over what Gael just said. Would a trueborn Jaehaerys from canon would actually do what he did now or even if knowing it was foolishness at its best, would he have started a man hunt for me and his daughter.  my thoughts sped faster considering many what-ifs and at the end, still I had no answer but assumptions. I had done my major due diligences regarding my future knowledge using my animals and green-seeing.  I could do nothing but increase it and prepare for the worst.   

“That is an excellent point, my love. Perhaps it is good that Jaehaerys was a bastard. And I am sorry that the freedom I promised you is delayed. For now, we must play king and queen.”

Gael waved a hand dismissively. “It is all right, Daemon. I am not trapped like before. I can be queen for a while.”

I nodded, relieved it was not a sticking point.

“And you are correct. The reward of our children claiming dragons easily will be worth it,” I said, glancing at Lyanna and I could easily feel pride even imagining her thriving on her own trials.

Gael followed my gaze and smiled warmly. “She has your looks, Daemon. I don’t know how your features can look so manly on you, and yet so beautiful on her.”

I grinned smugly. “What can I say? I am just that good-looking. It is my warrior’s body that makes me so manly. Girls across the kingdom lust after me and grow wet from just a smile.” I boasted carelessly.

The warmth in Gael’s smile vanished instantly. My grin faltered, and I almost facepalmed at my own foolishness. I knew it was necessary to sire many children, but even then, guilt and shame prickled me for what I had said.

“So there is truth in it,” Gael said with a grimace. “Daemon, I always thought you were exaggerating when you claimed to have hundreds of bastards. I expected one or two accidents, perhaps, but this surprises me. So I must ask—will you continue leaving bastards even now?”

I sighed, defeated. “I have no choice, Gael. Especially now. If Maegor could be Jaehaerys’s father, why would the damned Long Night wait politely for my timeline of two centuries? What if it comes next winter? There are no rumors yet of vanishing wildlings, so perhaps nothing will happen now. Still, I only half believe in my own prophecy of 200 years. We must prepare, Gael—and raising humanity’s strength is the first step. Believe me, I would have abandoned meaningless coupling long ago. It had become monotonous, without feeling—at least on my side.”

“How many are there in King’s Landing now?” Gael asked finally after a bit too long of a silence.

“A dozen,” I admitted.

“And how many since you began seducing me—and I began to love you?” Gael asked, her face lined with worry and sorrow.

“None,” I said with a shrug.

Gael immediately brightened with a teasing smile. “Oh? Interesting. What happened, oh savior of mankind? Did your magical cock fail after I met you?”

I laughed, forgetting my earlier worries. “No, I simply couldn’t bother with others when you sucked me dry daily.”  I joked back.

Gael immediately blushed and closed her eyes to escape my gaze.

“The emotions and the bond were too strong. I couldn’t taint them with anything else. So, I decided to be monogamous, atleast until the ritual. I was going to kill you, the least I could do was not cheat on you too.” I finished with a shrug.

After a long moment, Gael controlled her blush and spoke again. “I don’t want to see life end as it is. If only your blood can save it, then so be it—leave bastards behind if you must. But do it discreetly. I don’t ever want to see those whores in our bed, or beneath you, when I come to you. I know you keep your warg animals to alert you—make sure none of the girls are near when I am present. And since children are vital to your plans to save mankind, you will not deny me. From now on, we will have children. Make your plans accordingly. And you will make sure none of your bastards grow up as orphans. If there are no kin, you will take responsibility. Do you understand, Daemon?”

I grimaced at her second condition, having hoped to keep Gael free for now—if she was not already with child. I even thought of asking her to drink moon tea, but then I remembered I had already been feeding her moon tea along with small amounts of poisons for the last two years, so she would build immunity through my fluids. I did not want to fight, so I only nodded.

“I already care for all my children, Gael. Do not worry. Unlike others, I can personally keep an eye on them. Though now, with my duties, it will become more difficult.”

Gael nodded. “Then continue doing so.”

I was surprised at how easily she accepted it.

“Why?” I asked curiously.

“Why not, Daemon?” Gael replied with a shrug. “I was ready to die for you. Compared to that, this is nothing. You gave me long life, powers, and now the crown of a queen. I know you love me—and that is enough.”

“Well, then, thank you, my dear,” I said. “Also, come with me to the Hall of the Painted Table this evening. It is time we meet your father and cousins to discuss the changes to come. I also wish to hear what plans grandfather had to secure our house against the snakes lurking in the shadows and add them with my own ideas.”

Gael smiled and agreed.

==============================

That evening, I sat at the northern end of the Painted Table—in the chair of the king. I had deliberately chosen to arrive first and sit at the head, to remind all that this was the seat of highest authority. My eyes travelled over the carved lands that would one day be mine. I looked sideways and I couldn’t see nothing but air For a moment, I considered commissioning an adjoining table of Essos and the Stepstones, but dismissed the thought with a snort. That would only draw the notice of every city across Essos and perhaps unite them against me.

“What are you thinking my love.”  Gael asked.   Gael was sitting on my left with a smile that spelled mischief.

I looked at her and just shrugged.

“Nothing very important dear.  Just some idle thoughts.” I said.  Gael just hummed as if not believing me and a pleasant silence descended to the room.

The silence was broken when my cousins and half-sister entered. Their already serious faces grew grimmer upon seeing me. I ignored their looks and greeted them with a grin.

A few minutes later, the king himself entered. He paused for several heartbeats when his eyes fell on me and where I was sitting. My grin widened, but I held my tongue as the king swallowed a grimace.  I understood that he was hoping that I was just angry when I said that I would be king in all but name yesterday and I wouldn’t follow through with it. 

 Fortunately for everyone, my grandfather didn’t say anything and he stood in the opposite side of the table where no chairs was laid down.  I immediately understood he would order someone to drag a chair to there and sit there.  I thought of making him sit on my right hand side, but it would be more effective to discuss face to face.

“Ah, cousin with my name,  please move a chair so that our grandfather can sit.”  I ordered. 

Daemon the younger stood and I thought he was going to rage at me, but a harsh look from the king who wanted the same thing stopped him immediately making him follow the order. 

As everyone sat around the Painted Table, I cleared my throat to command their attention.

“I have called you all here to discuss the changes coming to the kingdom and its laws. Shall we begin?”

========================

Authors note:  yeah jae was planning on what he did with daemon snow as a backup plan even before the meeting in dragonstone…  jae knew daemon wouldn’t accept and jae was looking for leverage.  Jae knew he couldn’t threaten them directly and jae knew that daemon cared for lyanna deeply.  Even then pride and anger could blind one and jae was hesitant. This meeting with lyanna  made jae realise his  threat of disinheriting daemon magically would work  almost all the time…    because, well daemon cares for lyanna deeply and lyanna will go for a dragon whatever the consequences  it may have…   also jae also heard from daemon Targaryen about lyanna;s words regarding the great council and how daemon is sitting in the sidelines waiting for something.   Daemon’s warning regarding the dance made him realise that daemon was waiting for it to exploit it. 

The oath made by daemon during the meeting was the final nail in the coffin that made jae realise the master plan of daemon and the jae decided to go with his plan of declaring daemon heir and the more difficult task of actually making him accept it….

So I have already decided the new laws,  long back and written in a chapter form where it is introduced to the small council as such, which is otto pov……  Do you think I should add a chapter before that showing this meeting debating and deciding on it. 

For eg.   2 new explicit law will be this :  The King’s authority and power is absolute and neither the gods nor men may go above the authority and power of the King.

2. Heirship to the iron throne.

1 absolute condition:  only a dragonlord could ever be a heir and then later on king.  all non dragonlord Targaryens are at the end of the line of succession. 

if the king didn’t declare someone heir the heirship is as follows,  Firstborn child regardless of gender, provided they are a dragonlord and retained the name Targaryen. All future kings are recommended to declare their heir as soon as possible and only choose a dragonrider if possible. 

If no children for the king and then his sibling will be the king/queen provided he is a drgaonlord.

ADS 42

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 42: Aftermath.

The Next Day

Viserys Targaryen

Viserys Targaryen awoke with a start, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains of Dragonstone. Confusion clouded his mind as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. As his senses sharpened, he became aware of the warmth beside him and beheld the serene face of a woman lying next to him. Aemma Arryn, the Lady of Dragonstone, lay peacefully in her slumber, her golden hair cascading over the pillow.

For a moment, everything was peaceful—until he grimaced, remembering that Aemma was no longer the Lady of Dragonstone, just as he was no longer the heir and Prince of Dragonstone.

Soon, he became aware of the pain and swelling in his cheek where his grandfather had slapped him the night before. Anger began to build in his mind, not only from the humiliation but also from the other things he had learned yesterday. He did not want to dwell on how the Great Old King had hidden his madness so well for so long. He sighed, forcing himself to calm down and think clearly.

As he sat up to freshen himself and go in search of his brother and cousins to discuss the matter, Aemma stirred and woke.

“Viserys, how are you? Talk to me,” Aemma asked worriedly as she sat up in bed.

“I was the happiest man, my dear wife, until yesterday. I thought all the lords had chosen me to be their king, but now I do not know what to think. Did I truly win, or did Vaegon simply declare my name as his father ordered? Our grandfather, the great king, turns out to be both a bastard and a madman. The things he has done, the power he wields—it is terrifying. He threatened to kill his own great-granddaughter, the favourite grandchild of his wife, and the only child and blood of his favourite son, simply to satisfy his hatred.  I fear what our Grandfather will do to us if I ever protest against any of his decisions from now on. And above all, Grandfather changed his heir after calling a Great Council, humiliating me by naming a legitimised bastard to the post just because he has the Cannibal and has married the king’s daughter. I do not know if this is a nightmare or reality.”

Aemma reached out, placing her hands on Viserys’s shoulder to comfort him.

“I do not know what to say, Viserys. I never believed I would be queen one day, and yet it happened when Uncle Baelon became heir. Then, after he passed away, you were selected, and we even celebrated. Now we have lost it again after becoming enamoured with the thought of it. Yet I am not sad—I am relieved. At least now we do not have the pressure to produce a male child, and we can rest, my love,” Aemma whispered.

Viserys blinked in surprise. “I never wanted to pressure you, my love. I am sorry if you ever felt that way. I am happy with Rhaenyra, and when the gods bless us with another boy, we will wait until you regain your strength and try then. Perhaps the bastard could help you recover—his healing works, after all.”

“No,” Aemma snapped immediately. “I do not want to consume whatever demon potions the bastard has access to, Viserys. I am your wife, but I am also an Arryn, and we are followers of the Faith. The Vale will never support magic, and I will not be tainted by it.”

Viserys was surprised by his usually calm wife’s vehemence against magic.

“My love, are you certain? Magic is a sword that cuts the hand that holds it, but that is only because of a lack of study or knowledge. Fortunately—or unfortunately—the king and his new heir have deep knowledge of it. It will not harm us, my love,” Viserys tried to reason.

Aemma looked conflicted. “I am not ready now. At least let us process the madness of yesterday. I still cannot believe we are directly descended from the cruel and sweet Gael, who eloped and married that bastard. Do you truly believe Gael foresaw all this and still went with him?”

Viserys looked thoughtful. “Gael has always been odd, my love. One day, she would be the cleverest girl in the realm, and the next she would seem the greatest fool, lost in her own mind. Perhaps the magic was affecting her, and the bastard cured her.”

Aemma considered this and then shrugged. “Maybe. Viserys, I think it is time you claimed a dragon, my love. For protection—and for Rhaenyra’s sake.”

Viserys wanted to refuse immediately, but he stopped himself.

“I will think about it,” Viserys grunted.

Their conversation was interrupted by the door bursting open and a four-year-old girl running toward them.

“Kepa! Kepa! Muna! Aunt Gael is back! I saw Aunty flying a dragon. I want to fly too!”

Viserys smiled. “You can ask Uncle Daemon later to take you on the dragon, my dear.”

His smile faded as Rhaenyra pouted and then grew slightly angry. “I do not like new Uncle Daemon, Kepa. He said I am lucky and did not call me princess. He looked like a magic man from the stories, with two different eyes and two different hair colours.”

Aemma frowned and picked Rhaenyra up to check her. “When did you meet this new uncle, Rhaenyra? What else did he do?”

Rhaenyra squirmed in her hold but could not get free. “I met him in the gardens, fighting with Bear Lady. They stopped when they saw me, and they even let me hold the king’s sword. Why does Uncle Daemon have the king’s sword?”

“Ah, we will tell you later, sweet child,” Viserys said quickly.

============================

Viserys wandered through the halls of Dragonstone as he made his way to the rooms of his cousin, Princess Rhaenys. He swallowed his frustration as he remembered that he would also have to meet with Corlys when he arrived. Although he had never truly lusted after or loved Rhaenys as a man loves a woman, he had expected to marry her for almost all of his childhood and early adolescence. Both his father and his uncle Aemon had made attempts to make that happen, and it had not been subtle. So it had wounded his pride as a Targaryen when Rhaenys chose the Sea Snake over him, a dragon.

Viserys was not surprised when he was welcomed into the meeting room within the guest quarters. The room had a clear view through a balcony and two doors—one leading to the bedchamber and the other to the hall he had entered.

Corlys and Rhaenys were breaking their fast while drinking Arbor red from the morning itself.

“Red in the morning?” Viserys chuckled and then shrugged. “I cannot really blame you, cousin. I understand that after the events of last night, it is better to drown the memories in alcohol.”

Rhaenys remained silent, while Corlys only scoffed. Viserys could read the anger and, more than that, the humiliation in him.

“You cannot understand this, Prince Viserys,” Corlys snarled. “I had to personally write the humiliating letter asking for forgiveness while giving up our position in the line of succession to the Iron Throne. Now all the lords will wonder what happened, and I cannot even tell them that our wise king is a lunatic hiding in plain sight. The fact that I did nothing to deserve this except bear the name Velaryon is beyond frustrating.”

“Well, then perhaps you should not have seduced a girl half your age and leapt at the chance to marry her when she offered,” Viserys snapped.

Corlys looked taken aback, as though realising he was not on such friendly terms with Viserys after all.

Rhaenys immediately turned to Viserys, her expression sharpening. “That is enough, Viserys. I love Corlys, and I do not regret marrying him, even now. It is not my fault that the king never bothered to inform us of his insane hatred for the Velaryon family. And the fact that you have no plan to reclaim the throne you lost to my bastard brother only proves I was right all those years ago.”

Viserys’ eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know I had no plans? I came here to ask you what could be done.”

Rhaenys smirked. “Viserys, do not be naive. We grew up together like siblings. I know you far better than anyone else.”

Viserys only nodded. “So what do you plan to do now, Rhaenys? I know for certain that you would not have declared war after our grandfather’s death had I been the heir. But now?”

Rhaenys scoffed. “You sometimes surprise even me, Viserys. The only reason I would not is because your brother Daemon is standing behind you. And yet you take him for granted. I suggest you try to appease him after what he learned of your plans for him had you remained heir.”

Viserys looked thoughtful and then grimaced, remembering the expression on face when he had told him Otto would be his Hand when he was king.

“I will try to make amends with my brother,” Viserys said after some time. “Now, tell me, what do you intend to do?”

“For now, nothing,” Rhaenys replied. “He is immune to dragonfire and has extensive healing abilities. What else is he immune to? Will he shrug off being stabbed? Will he laugh at being beheaded? We know nothing about the limits of magic, and that puts us at a great disadvantage. I intend to study and prepare as much as possible while remaining loyal.”

Viserys nodded. “Yes, of course. Why risk everything for something uncertain? Maybe Daemon the elder will grow bored and leave the throne when our grandfather dies. Maybe he will continue to rule. Maybe he will simply abandon it. We do not know what he will do, since he is so unpredictable.”

Corlys snorted. “No man will simply give up power, Prince Viserys. Everyone is greedy in the end. If nothing can be done, then once everything is settled, I will leave for another great voyage. This time, I will focus on magic and the rumours of great powers. There must be something out there that will give us the advantage.”

=================================

Daemon Targaryen

The Rogue Prince.

Daemon woke early in the morning, unable to get any proper rest after going to bed following that damned meeting. Even now, he could hardly believe the bastard had been declared heir, and that there was nothing to be done about it. Daemon had seen the monster’s speed, and he knew that even hundreds of men could not box in and kill someone with such terrifying skill—let alone one with potent self-healing.

Then there was his terrifying grandfather. In even his most heinous thoughts, Daemon had never imagined his grandfather would become a kinslayer. The threats that man had made yesterday were something Daemon himself would be afraid to utter, even with the knowledge and power to back them. Somehow, the king had found a way to control that monster to his will, turning a disaster into an advantage. In a way, Daemon almost admired him for successfully protecting the legacy of House Targaryen by making such hard choices.

The only thing that had pleased Daemon yesterday was seeing how much his shrew of a grandmother had suffered upon learning the truth. Daemon had begun to dislike the queen long ago, when she constantly blamed him and tried to keep him away from Gael. That dislike had turned to outright hatred when she titled him the Rogue Prince and denied him Gael’s hand, calling him a philanderer—before he had even lain with a whore. He had searched hard for the person who had spread those rumours, but had never found them.

Daemon could not stop his mirth as he imagined the queen’s reaction upon discovering that Gael had married the greatest womaniser in Westeros—Daemon himself, the Daemon.

More than all of this, what truly disappointed him was his brother Viserys. The fact that Viserys did not intend to name him Hand after his ascension had stung deeply. The lack of acknowledgement curdled Daemon’s thoughts after all the effort he had put into making him heir.

“Did the fool believe Rhaenys would have supported him when it was time for his accession without me—Daemon Targaryen—standing behind him with Caraxes and Dark Sister ready?” Daemon muttered. Then another thought struck him.

Would Viserys actually grant him an annulment from the bronze bitch? The answer came quickly.

No. Viserys was married to Aemma Arryn, and the Vale was under the regency of the bronze bitch’s father. More than that, Aemma was friends with the bronze bitch, and there was no way she would agree to an annulment.

“Fuck,” Daemon cursed as he rose from bed, deciding to go flying to clear his thoughts.

=====================================

Daemon was on his way to the Dragonmont when he heard the distinct sound of Valyrian steel clashing on Valyrian steel from Aegon’s garden. He scowled, immediately deducing it was the bastard prince and the bear bitch.

He wanted to ignore them and continue on his way, but curiosity got the better of him as he remembered Lyanna claiming that perhaps the two of them together could take on her father. Daemon scoffed. There was no way she could take the bastard in a sword fight. Perhaps the bastard had been coddling the little bitch.

He almost stayed hidden in the shadows to watch, but decided against it. The animals could already be watching, and there was no point in denying himself the best view.

The first thing he registered was the skill and speed on display. While nowhere near the speed of yesterday, the bastard was not holding back on his precious daughter—he was pressing her hard while Lyanna struggled to keep up. There was no talking or smirking from her this time; her face was set in deep concentration, unlike the bastard’s, who was calmly analysing and judging the spar.

Daemon watched for some time before realising something else—the bastard was an excellent teacher. He increased the speed and difficulty whenever Lyanna began to match him, keeping it just above her skill level.

A growl escaped Lyanna, and Daemon knew she understood exactly what her father was doing. Her concentration broke under her rage and frustration. The bastard prince smirked and punished her lapse by increasing his speed, battering her quickly until she lost her footing and fell.

Even Daemon grinned at the bear bitch’s misery.

“Why are you grinning like an idiot, Daemon? If you have the daring, come here and fight me. I really want to bash something in, and you are the perfect target,” Lyanna called from where she had fallen.

Daemon glanced at the bastard prince, but saw no reaction—no emotion, only calmness.

“I have better things to do,” Daemon replied at last.

“Daemon,” the bastard prince said, then paused as if considering something. “Oh, yes—it is strange to say my own name. From now on, you will be called Daemon the Younger when we are both in the same room. Now, as for the matter at hand—you are, of course, welcome to join in. It will be more entertaining for me to fight both of you at once.”

Daemon the Younger grimaced. “Is this a command from the heir to the Iron Throne?”

The bastard prince shook his head. “No. The first part is. The offer to join our sparring is just that—an offer.”

“Then, as I said, I have better things to do. I am on my way,” Daemon replied, walking away from his family to be alone again.

===================

The sea wind whipped against Daemon’s face as he approached the only soul — beast or man — he knew loved him without condition. Caraxes waited for him in the shadow of the cliffs, her long crimson neck curling toward him with a low, rumbling growl that was almost a greeting. She cherished him, and he loved her in return. She was his truest bond in a world where everything else had soured.

He was not sad. Not angry.  Daemon was just tired of it all.

He had lost his mother when he was little and, in return, gained a foolish little brother. He worked hard to prove himself, and in the process, he had to lose a man who was almost a father to him — Uncle Aemon — to claim his dragon, Caraxes. Then he was forced to marry the bronze bitch when there were still eligible Valyrians, all because his foolish grandmother could not let go of her precious Gael. The only thing that brought him any satisfaction during the wedding was Dark Sister, given to him by his father before the wedding, as if the sword he had earned by his skill, could make up for the betrayal.

Then his father, who should have been king, died, and Daemon had to fight for Viserys’s claim when it was never in question to begin with. And when the time came for his reward, Viserys the fool did not want him. Perhaps the Gods were just after all — Viserys had lost his heirship to the bastard, Daemon, just as he realised his brother would never give him what he wanted.

The thought drew a bitter smile to Daemon’s lips as he ran a gloved hand down Caraxes’s scales, feeling the heat that lived beneath them. With a swift movement, he swung into the saddle. The leather straps tightened around his legs, the ropes ready beneath his hands.

“Soves,” he murmured, even if he had no need to order loudly. 

Caraxes leapt, wings tearing the air apart. The island fell away beneath them, the grey stone and black beaches shrinking to toy-like shapes. The port of Dragonstone sprawled below, its ships reduced to tiny black flecks drifting across the water. Higher and higher they rose, until the wind howled in his ears and the world felt like it belonged to him alone.

But, as always, something came to punish him. The peace shattered with a roar that did not belong to Caraxes. It came from above — deep, guttural, and steeped in malice. Shadows eclipsed the sunlight, and Daemon’s head snapped upward just in time to see a black monster descend. Morghul.

For a moment, Daemon’s heart nearly stopped as pure fear enveloped him. A sharp roar from Caraxes jolted his senses, flooding his mind with his dragon’s rage and panic.

Daemon knew diving to the ground would not save them; Morghul’s  already in a dive at them and his greater speed would allow him to catch them mid-fall. But Daemon and Caraxes were almost one, and instinctively, he gave the order to roll hard to the right. At the speed they were flying, the maneuver would turn into a barrel roll, leaving Caraxes needing two full turns to stabilise. Normally it will be plenty of time for another dragon to strike after using its  greater wingspan to slow the dive and breathe fire at them. 

Yet Daemon suspected this was not a true attack, perhaps because of the strange connection between the bastard and his morghul.  Even now the bastard must know his bonded dragon is hunting one of his cousins for no reason but sport.

Caraxes obeyed, and as Daemon hung upside down in the saddle, clinging to the ropes with his hands, he saw Morghul spread his wings to slow his descent and turn to the left. For a moment, as Daemon hung there upside down, Daemon’s eyes locked with Morghul’s smouldering green one, and understanding struck him.

The eyes were mocking him and it was the dragon itself finding entertainment on the cost of him.  As if to confirm it, Morghul let out a wheezing sound that Daemon could swear sounded like evil laughter.

Daemon roared in fury, but the wind stole the sound. Caraxes righted herself in the air, flying away from the larger dragon. Fortunately, Morghul did not pursue and instead flew in the opposite direction.

Daemon cursed the Gods and the bastard who bore his name, trying to calm the pounding of his heart.

=============================

Alysanne Targaryen

Alysanne Targaryen woke up with a weak scream from the nightmare she had. Gael marrying her bastard grandson, Gael running away from her, and more than that, the bastard being declared the next king by her own sweet brother and husband, Jaehaerys. What madness had possessed her to imagine her husband as the secret son of Maegor the Cruel?

Alysanne almost smiled as her consciousness became fully aware after sleep.

“What a horrible nightmare,” Alysanne whispered as she sat up in the comfortable bed.

“It was not a nightmare, Mother,” the voice of Gael interrupted her thoughts. Alysanne’s head whipped to the side where the voice came from.

“Gael, you are back,” Alysanne said immediately, smiling fully. “I missed you, my dear sweet child.”

Gael just looked at her pointedly.

Alysanne frowned, then realization hit her. It was not a nightmare. It was reality.

“No…” Alysanne whispered.

“Yes,” Gael replied.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nooooo…” Alysanne fainted.

=======================================

The next time Alysanne came to consciousness, her thoughts were far clearer somehow. She groaned in pleasure as the old aches in her body were not felt this time, and she opened her eyes. She was glad to see Gael sitting in a chair beside her bed, reading something.

“Gael,” Alysanne called.

“Mother, it seems the healing potion my husband gave you is far more effective than expected. You look coherent, and your eyes have that spark again,” Gael said without looking up from her reading.

Indignation and rage flared in Alysanne for a moment, but she sighed deeply to swallow them. She remembered what the bastard had said, and if there was even a chance it was not a lie, showing anger now would mean losing Gael forever.

“Gael, tell me. Did you actually go with the bastard by your own choice, or was he the one who whispered poison into your ear to make you see your own mother as a jailer? If it was the latter, and you fell for the charms of that inhuman bastard, I will find a way to get you out of it and kill him,” Alysanne snapped.

“There was nothing like that, Mother. I went by my own choice. I foresaw it, after all, during the rare times I was fully in my head while the septas and handmaidens left me alone to be myself. When I met my Daemon two years ago, I was at a point where if I had to hear one more septa whisper that I was the Maiden reborn and that magic is a curse, I would have killed her. Only my time alone in the godswood kept me sane by then. And your constant smothering never helped, Mother.”

Alysanne looked as though she had been slapped.

“I loved you, Gael. I loved you so much. You were my sweet winter child. One day, when you become a mother yourself, you will understand that what I did was not smothering,” Alysanne said with conviction.

“No, Mother. You never loved me. I was a representation. A representation of all my sisters and your love for them, even though you never bothered with some of them at all in your madness. I really want to know what Viserra did for you to care so little for her. The fact that you even entertained marrying her to an old fat Manderly is mind-boggling to me.”

Alysanne opened her mouth to protest, but her daughter interrupted.

“And do not say you did not. I know that if it had not been for my husband using the Manderlys in his schemes, and how much the Manderlys profited from it without your

knowledge, you would have announced it.”

For a moment, Alysanne looked guilty.

“This is all in the past, Gael. It does not change what you did. You ran away and married a bastard,” Alysanne snarled.

“From what I heard, you did the same thing, Mother,” Gael shot back. “As far as I remember, you did it against your own mother’s wishes. Maybe this is her curse, for you to suffer the same with your supposed favorite daughter.” Gael smirked.

Alysanne’s eyes widened in shock as she looked at Gael as if seeing her for the first time.

“Anyway, stop yelling about irrelevant matters. Daemon’s powers make his origins irrelevant. We were also once sheepherders, then Valyria happened. We were once foreign scum who came to invade Westeros. Then Aegon became king. Origins become irrelevant before power,” Gael said with a shrug.

Alysanne remained silent for minutes as she tried to grasp this new Gael—or perhaps the real Gael she had never seen.

“I do not know what to say to make you my Gael again, but for what it is worth, I am sorry I could not protect you from the clutches of that evil bastard and his schemes,” Alysanne said with a defeated sigh.

Gael only shook her head in disappointment, which the Queen ignored.

“The only good thing is that at least you will be a queen. The bastard will ruin this kingdom with his lack of knowledge or greed, so I will train you to be an effective queen. That way, something can be saved from Jaehaerys’s foolish decision.”

Gael scoffed. “Mother, I have been your shadow for the last couple of decades. I have learned what to do from you, and more importantly, what not to do as a queen. There is no need for your lessons. Also, just as Daemon told Father, you may remain queen, but you will have no real power. More than that, you are still well only because of Daemon’s gift, which he provided after I begged him. If it is stopped, you will be bedridden. This is my gift to you for all you have done for me. You may remain as long as your mind wills it, and the healing potion will continue to be delivered to you. I have had a lifetime of your love. I suggest you spend your remaining time being a real grandmother to Rhaenyra, Laena, and Laenor, unlike how you loved some of your children only as a queen would. I will be going to King’s Landing with the others when Father announces Daemon’s new status. Even Father agreed with Daemon’s suggestion to keep you here, as you are too sick to travel now, and he fears you will be overheard shouting things like Maegor being the king’s father or how Father threatened Driftmark. This is the end, Mother.”

Alysanne gasped as Gael stood from the chair.

“Gael, please, do not leave me like your sisters did.”

To Alysanne’s horror, Gael only shook her head and walked out of the room.

========================================

Kingslanding

Otto Hightower

Hand of the king.

Ser Otto was not having a good sennight at all.  It had begun with happiness, as his life’s work of making Viserys Targaryen, his good friend and even a student, was finally going to pay interest shortly. Otto knew that Viserys would win because the majority of lords would not suffer a woman as queen, especially when that queen was married to Corlys Velaryon. More than that, he had learned the king believed the same thing, and Otto knew that when the old king desired something, he made it so. Otto would never have suspected foul play by the king if it had not been for the events after the death of Prince Aemon.

Ser Otto celebrated when the raven from Harrenhal arrived announcing Viserys as heir. Even though he had to play the disappointed Hand when he delivered the news to the old queen, Otto was over the top of the mountain with joy. He had already subtly planted the seeds in Viserys’ mind about how fortunate he was to inherit a fully capable administration in the form of the small council assembled by Jaehaerys the Conciliator, the wise king himself. Otto was almost certain that after decades of planning and many methods, finally a Hightower was once again will be behind the throne, influencing decisions and the king himself.

In the last few years, as he worked to ensure he was an essential part of the small council, Otto’s own influence and plans had grown. He had seen Princess Aemma fail to produce a living child, and Otto was thankful—whether it was the gods who cursed her or simply Viserys’ foolishness in bedding a thirteen-year-old girl, a weak one at that. Otto knew the girl would not live long unless Viserys stopped trying for children, which he would not do. Otto understood then that the prince would have to remarry.

Otto had been teaching his daughter to be a pious yet intelligent girl from a young age, while subtly planting in her mind the possibility of marrying a prince. It was only much later that Otto realised his nine-year-old girl had developed a childish crush on the wrong prince—Daemon Targaryen, the second son. Otto tried to dissuade her, but the more he tried, the more the idea spread. Daemon was the dashing knight, while Viserys was the bookish one. Daemon was the charismatic prince who always wanted to be the star in any room while viserys was satisfied being just acknowledged.  

Otto knew Daemon would not be influenced by himself or even his child, so he began to plant rumours of Daemon’s cruelty and debauchery. The gossip spread faster than he expected, and eventually his daughter began to hate the prince as her childish crush and ideals of knighthood were shattered. By the time Baelon died, Otto knew his daughter admired the lesser-talented Viserys over the accursed womanizer Daemon.

Otto was very happy that the only child Aemma carried to term, was a girl and even then the maester had warned of Aemma’s fragile health.  The decision of Viserys to wait for trying for a boy again after Aemma get her health back up was surprising and even his advice for getting a son was chastised by Viserys. 

By this time, Prince Baelon was busier than ever, and Otto was the one assisting him with the Hand of the King’s tasks. When Baelon died of a burst belly in 100 AC, even Otto was shocked. He thought it a blessing from the Seven when the king made him the new Hand of the King. The fight for the succession was beginning, and Otto tried to fan the flames, but he knew Rhaenys was too cautious to act, and the king finally decided to settle the matter.

The supposedly wise king’s decision to call a Great Council and plant in the lords’ minds the idea of choosing their monarch was, in Otto’s opinion, foolish. But the king went through with it, and now a lifetime of diligent service to House Targaryen had rewarded him. Otto was almost tempted to begin his true service to House Hightower now that the king had been absent from day-to-day rule for several months, but he managed to control himself and wait for the old king’s death.

Thus, Otto was feeling the greatest joy he had ever known when he heard the single most damaging news to his position and power.

The missing of Princess Gael Targaryen.

Otto had long ago written off Princess Gael has a foolish sick girl who will be nothing but a broodmare for some lucky bastard after the death of old king and queen.  So when Gael vanished from the castle without anyone even knowing how, Otto knew something big has happened an it will not be useful to his plans at all.    

Otto ruled King’s Landing in the king’s absence at Harrenhal, and losing a princess of the realm was something punishable. He cursed the foolish, insane girl in his mind as he personally joined the search through the city. He had to set an example and lead it himself. That he failed to find the girl for a week, until the king’s party returned to the city, enraged him to the core. He was almost certain she had been assaulted and murdered.

Otto humbled himself, grovelling and humiliating himself to keep his position, which he managed to do. The king, in his rage, left the ruling of the realm to Otto once more.

Otto’s confidence returned, until the maester informed him of a letter sent directly to Daemon Targaryen by the king. Otto tried to question the king, but was rebuffed. Later he was told to hold the capital as the hand of the king and the Targaryens departed for Dragonstone. Otto almost gasped in shock when he saw the frail old king climb Vermithor like a young man and fly to Dragonstone.

Otto made inquiries with the Grand Maester and the servants who attended the king and queen.

The only thing he obtained from the servants were two glass bottles with a faint reddish tint, one from each of the royal couple’s rooms. Otto was ashamed to admit he could not determine anything from them, nor even guess at what had truly happened.

That night, Otto went to bed with a troubled mind. His dream began strangely and then shifted into something so lifelike that he nearly lost control of his bladder.

He found himself sitting on the Iron Throne with the Hand’s pin on his chest, while his daughter stood in the queen’s place, holding a silver-haired baby. Clearly, he was the regent, and he saw House Hightower rising higher and higher in power. Suddenly, there was silence, and Otto’s vision blurred, racing northward. When it cleared, he was surrounded by snow in the barbaric North. Otto cursed, but the words died in his throat when his mind drowned in terror at the roar of a black dragon above. Even from the height, the sheer presence and the flap of its wings made his body tremble.

The dragon did not even notice him. It beat its wings and rose, and suddenly a tornado formed, as if the Storm God himself had descended. Otto was lifted into the air and hurled across Westeros until he landed atop the Hightower. He lay there in relief until the sound of the wind grew deafening. He looked up and saw the tornado approaching the Hightower. He screamed as he fell, and to his horror, the tower split in two.

Otto awoke with a scream, his body drenched in sweat.

Finally the horrifying answer to his day’s unease came to him.

It was the northern bastard. Daemon Snow.

The next day, when Otto received a letter from the king announcing his return and promising significant news and changes to the realm, he was not surprised. He sighed in frustration, understanding the dream.

Somehow, Daemon Snow would come with the king and take his place as Hand of the King, while he, the Hightower, fell from the heights.

=============================

Authors note:   yeah otto will wish his first guess was correct and he lost his hand position to daemon snow while viserys remained the heir…  it is going to be the worst month in otto’s life when he was supposed to be the most happy as he reached half the summit.  Also if anyone is wondering why otto was never discovered because he really was subtle and careful… also he is too low in  status compared to others while he work so much more efficiently and he truly worked  loyally for house Targaryen till now so he could get the small council spot.   Also spending almost a decade in kingslanding while learning from the best made him a very very effiecent statesman when he was already tywin level competent administrator. 

Yeah, Alysanne has lost it completely in her old age and the horrifying meeting. She is sick like she should have been after gael’s suicide and the only way even a shred of clarity comes from daemon’s blood. Which could only extend the life so long..     the news regarding Jaehaerys completely broke her….

Viserys and Rhaenys doing some introspection while accepting the truth for now/.. they has plenty to loose after all…  so wait and see approach…. 

The rogue prince is tired at age 18-19 age due to not getting anything he want while he worked hard for something else… 

Next chapter: probably will be the start of the kingslanding arc, unless more targ family drama is to be shown…..

Read, Commend and Recommend…..

FD 8

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF  and Marvel characters and all recognizable characters, plots, belong to GRRM and Marvel.  I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 8 : Logan

Baelon moved forward to support Gaemon as he stumbled a step after standing up from the bed. But even before Baelon could reach him, Gaemon corrected his posture and stood tall, as if there were no pain or life-threatening injuries on him.

"I am all right, brother," Gaemon said, raising his hand to stop Baelon. Baelon frowned, while Aemon snickered at him.

They reached the center of the Dragonpit, and Baelon watched as Gaemon approached Balerion, inspecting every healing wound and injury on the Black Dread. No one else but Jaehaerys dared to walk up and touch the healing injuries to examine them.

Jaehaerys looked around. There was no one nearby, not even if they shouted.

"Now, it is time," Jaehaerys said. "Gaemon, tell me the truth. Who are you, or what do you know?"

Baelon gaped at the question, and he knew Aemon had a similar expression. Of all the things their father could ask, he never thought such a question would be posed.

Alysanne scoffed in derision. "Come on, brother. Do not waste Gaemon’s rest with such meaningless questions."

Jaehaerys ignored everyone else and observed Gaemon. Baelon followed his lead, surprised to see the weary look in Gaemon’s eyes.

"I am Prince Gaemon. Who do you think I am?" Gaemon said with a shrug.

"Gaemon, do you know that it was I who pulled you from the fire when you were revived from death? And no, Alysanne, it was not a near miss. Gaemon had clearly died that day, and only the sacrifice of the dragon egg brought him back. The black eyes I saw that day had too much intelligence for a newborn. Over the years, everything only strengthened my assumption. Now, with your powers, it is confirmed for me, Gaemon. Now answer the question. Do you have dragon dreams, or who are you really?"

Gaemon remained silent, thinking through the possibilities. He had never suspected someone would reach the insane conclusion of body swapping or replacement.

He was ready to lie and claim dragon dreams, but then he looked at his mother and siblings. For all their shortcomings, they never lacked love—especially Alyssa and his mother, who had looked after him these past few days. Logan remembered his insane brother, Sabretooth, and his new brothers in this life. The difference between their relationship is the size of ant and an elephant. He loved and cared for his new family and for someone who even agreed to this life for his daughter, it was a balm to his soul. He thought of all the stories of mutant parents who once appeared loving, only to turn to fear and hatred when the truth of abilities emerged.

He wondered whether this new magical family would be different. Even though his father was a cold and calculating king, he did look after the Targaryen family in his own way, using them to their maximum potential. Gaemon sighed, realizing that at the very least, his mother Alysanne deserved the truth and if the truth make them hate or fear him, then it all became very easy for him, going forward. He could just get on Balerion and fly away to travel and live in the wild for now. 

"You are correct, in a sense," Gaemon finally said. "I remember everything from the moment I became conscious in that fire. I also remember scattered memories of a past life. I have lived a long life, forgotten much, loved and died in that life. I even know things about this world—some fragments of its future."

Immediately, a sword was at Gaemon’s throat. Dark Sister’s hungry steel almost touched his neck.

"Give me back my brother, you thief," Baelon snarled in anger.

Gaemon looked at him sadly. "I am your brother, Baelon," he said with a small smile. "The proof is behind me, now wondering if you would make a good meal after all the cows and goats he has eaten these last five days."

A hiss of warning echoed from Balerion, and Baelon’s hand trembled. Moments later, the roar of Vhagar echoed through the Dragonpit as the ancient beast emerged from her cavern.

"Enough," Jaehaerys ordered. Baelon instinctively lowered his sword and stepped back.

"Gaemon, what do you mean by that?" Alysanne asked, still crying softly.

"I assure you, even though I had regeneration in my last life, I had no talent to bond with animals like I just did with Balerion. Only being Gaemon made that possible. My past life—Logan—may influence me through centuries of memory, but I am still Gaemon. Otherwise, I would not have been able to bond with Balerion. It really is that simple."

"He is correct," Jaehaerys finally said. "Just as all our children grew with their own unique paths, Gaemon simply had a different life from the very beginning."

Alysanne nodded in acceptance, and Baelon sheathed his sword, though he still looked conflicted. Alyssa and Aemon accepted it without question—Gaemon was Gaemon, regardless of what memories he may carry.

"So what do you know about powers like mine, Your Grace?" Gaemon asked shrewdly. "You could not have reached this conclusion about me unless you already knew of some other example."

"Yes, you are correct, Gaemon," Jaehaerys said with a sigh. "It seems fate will not allow me to carry this secret to my grave. Does anyone here know why Old Valyria tried to conquer Essos, or why they followed in the Ghiscari’s footsteps with slavery? Or why we never turned to Westeros, when at first glance, it would have been easier? Or why Valyria built a watchpost on Dragonstone?"

Everyone looked intrigued, but no one had an answer.

"It is because some people are born with incredible powers. The Ghiscari used slavery to find them, then used them in magical rituals to usurp their abilities. Even when Valyria was blessed by the Fourteen Elder Dragons and their legacy, these anomalies were dangerous. One in a million, perhaps, but still incredible. Valyria used dragons and their own gifts to conquer the Ghiscari, Rhoynar, and the rest of Essos."

"Mutants," Gaemon whispered, though only Jaehaerys glanced at him, curious.

"Though the Forty Families ruled in council, some were always more powerful. The most powerful was House Belarys, and that was because their immortal head could possess anyone and take over their body completely."

Gaemon almost paled. He whispered, "Apocalypse."

"Each time he possessed another, he grew stronger. Only the threat of the Elder Dragons and dragonriders kept his ambition in check. Then we turned to Westeros and discovered their own strange magics—skinchanging, green dreams, even the power to change the nature of the world itself. Belarys was deeply afraid of the skinchangers and convinced the council to issue a decree of non-interference regarding Westeros.

"Nearly a decade before the Doom, anomalies….. no mutants, had become concentrated in Valyria itself. Those outside the Forty were sacrificed to steal their powers. Eventually, Belarys became powerful enough that he sacrificed fourteen powerful mutants, usurped their abilities, and attempted a ritual to possess one of the Elder Dragons. But he underestimated the Dragon Gods. The Doom was the result.

"Belarys was cursed—banished and transformed into a dragonlike being, trapped in eternal pain and slumber in Valyria. The Elder Dragons also cursed the world so that no more mutants would be born."

"And yet here you are, Gaemon," Jaehaerys said solemnly. "An anomaly. A sign of divergence in the song of this world. More than that, you bonded with Balerion, one of the few quarter- Elder Dragons still alive. If any red priest or black sorcerer of Essos learns that a mutant has returned, it could spark a war to end all wars."

"Well, I have fought in those before and ended it. Let the idiots come. It is not the first time I have been hunted down by some power hungry monsters," Gaemon snarled as coiled power swelled within his body.

"Enough, Gaemon," Alysanne snapped. "There will be no wars, and you are banned from ever leaving Westeros or setting foot in Essos. Fortunately, I have managed to control the news of your miraculous healing. You are safe for now."

Gaemon growled in irritation but did not argue back, since he had no intention of stopping himself for the sake of some monsters. If they came, then he would deal with it as usual. In his eyes, slavers deserved nothing less than death.

Baelon and Aemon looked at each other with a mixture of wonder and worry.

"So, Father," Aemon started, "why does the world not know the truth?"

"Aemon, there are still tales of incredibly powerful people, even though they are now almost revered as gods. The Doom and the Century of Blood erased many bloodlines, and knowledge has been permanently lost. Only the pseudo immortals remember the truth now and are still waiting for the resurgence of mutants."

"Is that why Aegon didn’t look to the east but turned to Westeros after seeing no more skinchangers or greendreamers?" Baelon asked with curiosity.

"Yes, that was one reason for his decision to become king of Westeros. Another was that he had a vision of the end of mankind as it is, caused by some catastrophe from beyond the Wall. Knowing the truth, he decided that if he truly wanted to protect the North from the threat beyond the Wall, then he would become king to do it—enjoying the benefits while taking on the unasked responsibility of stopping the future threat he foresaw.

Now here is Gaemon, who claims to know some future events. Tell me, Gaemon, was the vision true or not?" Jaehaerys asked.

"The vision is true. I do not know what change mutants might cause, but the Others—or White Walkers—are slumbering in the lands of always winter and collecting dead bodies for their undead army. I know that they will attack in 300 AC, and a Baratheon will sit on the throne after a rebellion."

Aemon’s eyes widened. "What Baratheon? They are my family, and we are tied by more than blood. Even if they could claim dragons, why would any Targaryen allow that?"

Gaemon concentrated, trying to remember anything he could, then replied, "Because by that time we were at our lowest, since there were no more dragons. I only remember that all the dragons were killed shortly after a civil war called the Dance of the Dragons, fought by the children of Viserys. I do not remember anything else."

"Children of Viserys? What will happen to me, Aemon, and even Baelon?" Alyssa asked in panic.

"I do not know, sister. I know many of the ladies die in childbirth. It makes you wonder why they die like that, even with the utmost care, provided by the greatest maesters."

Jaehaerys remained silent while the others started to argue about the latest information.

"Enough," Jaehaerys’s voice pierced through the loud argument. "Nothing is to be gained by arguing here and now. Gaemon, you will share anything else you remember or see in a vision."

Gaemon just shrugged.

"Now," Jaehaerys continued, "Aemon, you will be my new Hand, while Gaemon will help establish new techniques to improve whatever he can. It is evident that his suggestions come from his other memories."

"Nope," Gaemon snapped immediately.

"Baelon will help Gaemon to—" Jaehaerys stopped, as if only then registering Gaemon’s refusal. "What? What do you mean by no?"

"The same as when anyone says no. I will not help you improve anything because you do not deserve my help. I have asked for two things from you until now, but you denied both of them because of your selfish need to establish our house’s reign over the needs or wants of individuals. Now one of my sisters is dead because of you, and the dragons are free from their chains because Balerion is free. Therefore, I will not do anything for you. I will only do what is necessary when Aemon becomes king—or maybe his children, or even Viserys, if the gods have cursed us with that fate. I have time, after all."

For the first time, Baelon saw his father truly surprised. Jaehaerys looked as if he had been slapped in the face.

"You will deny your king and father just like that?"

"Yes, I will deny you just like that," Gaemon replied with a shrug. "I will do what is necessary if I believe it is needed or to protect my siblings. You have shown that you value the idea of House Targaryen more than the living, breathing people in it."

"It seems to me that enjoying the privileged life of being a prince of the blood has made you forget who you should be thankful to," Jaehaerys said pointedly. "Your dragon just consumed ten thousand gold dragons' worth of food, and you think you do not owe anything in return?"

"Well, if you want to talk about money, then call it protection fees."

Jaehaerys looked confused and whispered, "Protection fees?"

"Yes, your grace. Protection fees for not killing and eating Dreamfyre, Silverwing, or even Meleys. Balerion needed sustenance immediately. Even I could not have controlled him if food had not been provided. So, it was protection fees," Gaemon said.

Jaehaerys was speechless as he tried to come up with a rebuttal.

Alysanne, who had been wiping tears from her eyes, sighed, took a deep breath, and then opened her eyes.

"Enough of this, Jaehaerys. Balerion has given this house more than enough for us to care for him in return. And do not dare to extort our children anymore. Maybe I should have followed Gaemon’s suggestion regarding Daella and at least waited, but your order to find her a husband by the end of the year was the main reason for the choice I made two years ago.

"And Daemon, do not antagonize your father for any reason. You may have different views because of your... your previous memories," Alysanne said with a hitch in her voice. "But you live in Westeros now, and this is how things are. I do not know how your relationship with your other parents was, but you should not compare it with our relationship, Gaemon."

"Oh, it went wonderfully, Mother," Gaemon said with a snort. "Long ago, I was the son of a wealthy landowner, and my relationship with my parents was fine—until our groundskeeper, Logan, who had been fired, came and killed my father. That trauma awakened my powers, and I killed him. Then I found out I was actually his illegitimate child. I ran away and lived in the forest for a time, becoming the Wolverine. I stayed there until my brother and later sworn enemy, Sabretooth, came to find me. We served in the army, fought in World War One, and then he betrayed me. To be honest, this Targaryen family is way better and far more good to me. So when I see my family in danger because of idiocy and pride, I cannot forgive or forget."

"Oh." Everyone looked at Gaemon with wide eyes, not knowing what to say or how to react to the new information.

It was Alyssa who broke the silence.

"I am sorry, brother, that your memories are so tragic," she said with a consoling voice and hugged Gaemon tightly.

Gaemon just patted Alyssa's back as he looked at the others with helplessness. He was happy that at least his family was not screaming for his head in fear or hatred after hearing the truth. Maybe being magical was the true reason they accepted him.

"Well," Jaehaerys’s calm voice pierced the warmth, "as much as we are fascinated by Gaemon’s memories, we have more relevant things to decide and consider. Alysanne, do not blame me alone for Daella’s death. She was my own daughter, and I mourn her just like I mourn the other children we lost. You do not understand the pressure of being the king and making decisions to protect us. The world is in a delicate balance, and I had to maintain that balance in Westeros so no one from Essos would get ideas. It is now more important than ever that the House of the Dragon stays united, especially since the first mutant in a century was born in our house."

Gaemon just snorted.

"You do not have to worry about me, your grace. I am capable of surviving whatever this world throws at me."

Jaehaerys looked intrigued for a moment before frowning.

"I am not worried about you, Gaemon. I am worried about the rest of us. If the matter of your miraculous regeneration comes out, then those who know will target the rest of our family. Tell me, what could innocent little Gael do against mages and shadowbinders?"

Gaemon’s eyes widened as he realized his foolishness. Of course, no matter the world, evil would always go after the innocent and the weak.

"Then the world will remember why it was Balerion who broke Volantis’s century of blood and conquered the Seven Kingdoms," Gaemon snarled.

"Aye, I know you will have your vengeance, Gaemon, especially against enemies. There is no doubt about that, even when you are punishing even me—your father—in the matter of Daella," Jaehaerys said. "But prevention is better than cure, and I want you to support us, not go rogue."

Gaemon frowned.

"I have said it before. I will always protect my family and help them when needed."

Jaehaerys nodded and smiled.

 "Then it would be best for you to marry Rhaenys and become king after Aemon. I will betroth you to her, and you can even marry her after she turns eighteen."

"No." Both Aemon and Gaemon looked surprised to hear each other yell the same word.

"Oh brother, do you think you are too good for my daughter, the future queen?" Aemon teased, hiding his grin.

"On the contrary, brother. I think I am bad for our future children. In my memories, I know for a fact that incest has been proven to lead to fatalities, including madness. Why would I want to subject my children to that willingly?" Gaemon replied calmly.

Jaehaerys just snorted.

"Gaemon, do not be naive. Valyrians have been doing it for millennia, and nothing happened because it was necessary to maintain the magical purity of our blood. As I said earlier, we are descendants of the elder dragons, and the more we preserve the blood, the more power we retain. In fact, every one of the forty families underwent magical rituals to ensure nothing harmful would happen due to incest. Selective breeding was also important because we needed to preserve any mutant abilities in the family and not given away."

Jaehaerys then looked at Aemon. "Why did you say no to my proposal?"

"I said no because I already promised Rhaenys that she could choose her own husband. I also do not want my brother to be her king, because he is a stubborn mule and would casually usurp her authority, especially now that Balerion is his dragon. But I will make this proposal to her, and if she agrees, I will give my permission to the betrothal."

Jaehaerys was ready to argue with Aemon, but seeing the angry expressions on Gaemon and Alysanne’s faces, he decided to let the matter run its course for now.

"Your grace," Gaemon interrupted, "if the matter of ritual is true, then Viserys or Daemon would be the better choice for Rhaenys. Her blood is already diluted by her mother, a Baratheon."

 Gaemon had realized that if such a ritual existed, then why were there mad kings in the Targaryen line? The only conclusion he reached was that the dilution of bloodlines brought the problems of other blood with them.

For a moment, even Jaehaerys looked startled as he just realized the same fact.

"No. Even then, there will be no betrothal," Aemon interrupted, noticing the king’s expression.

Gaemon just shrugged.

"Well, I just informed you. It is your choice to do what you will."

"Husband, is it necessary to discuss marriages right now when they are still so young? We have time to plan," Alysanne said pointedly.

Gaemon almost rolled his eyes at the silent communication between his parents. He understood that they had decided to get their way by manipulating him and his cousins, even without an outright command.

Gaemon knew his sisters were beautiful and otherworldly. Even so, he never felt anything sexual toward them. Maybe it was because he was an old soul, and watching the children grow in front of his eyes and become young girls made him feel like a creep for even imagining marrying them.

Jaehaerys just nodded.

"Of course, sister. Let us table the matter for now. Gaemon, I now know you do not like me, but we must have a cordial relationship if we are to survive what is coming," Jaehaerys said.

"For what is coming?" Alysanne asked.

"Yes, my dear, for what is coming. The curse the elder dragons placed on this world was that no more mutants would be born. But there was a prophecy which said that if even one mutant is reborn, then it would mark the return of magic and might to this world. Who is to say that another two or three mutants are not already on the verge of awakening, even now, due to trauma and violence? Then the pseudo immortals will look at our family—the last surviving dragonlords—and they will realize the truth behind the rumours about Gaemon. They will come for Gaemon. It took millennia of brutal war and conquest for the dragonlords to mitigate the threat and ensure that no more powers landed in the hands of the unworthy. It may come to that again."

Gaemon looked intrigued.

"Pseudo immortals? Who are they?"

"There are many. The most famous are the Red Priests of R'hllor, some shadowbinders, the blood drinkers of Ussos, the warlocks of Qarth, and the leader of the Faceless Men. These are just a few examples of long-lived individuals," Jaehaerys said, and everyone was surprised that the normally unflappable king appeared rather pale as he listed their names.

"Well, that is interesting to know," Gaemon said with a shrug, showing no fear or worry, which surprised the others—until they remembered his confession about fighting in a world war.

"Anyway, we can discuss threats later, Father," Aemon said as he looked at Gaemon. "Even now, he looks like he is one breeze away from fainting. Let him rest for now."

Jaehaerys nodded in acceptance.

=======================================

Authors Note: I had no plans for including mutants at first, but in last chapter realised that using same Valyrian backstory as ADS is boring and wolverine is pretty op in canon got world .. so decided to add mutants in backstory and see what happens.. as for  future lets see what happens…

Also Gaemon coming clean was also not at all planned but happened during writing.  Thinking back logan agreed to this for living with his daughter after this life, and when  he get a whole lot of family who loves him in their own way,  he cares for them and wanted them to live happily……   

 Powers inspired from xmen may or may not appear in the future…….

Also I have updated my pinned post with august schedule… please note that sept 1-15 there would probably no update unless I could write extra in this month.. so 3 ads chapters will be probably in sept 16, 23, 30.

ADS 41

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 41: The Bastard King- II

Everyone looked at the Velaryons nervously. No one had ever blackmailed the king like this before. Even the Bastard Prince had never resorted to blackmail. In fact, he had never asked for anything from the king until now. He simply took what he wanted and spoke as if it was expected.

The Old King’s eyes glinted with madness and rage as he stared at Rhaenys’ face.

"I see," the king whispered with restrained fury. A chill went down Rhaenys' spine.

"You will not back down. I can see it in your eyes. It is screaming, ‘I want something,’ just like a spoiled child throwing a temper tantrum, not considering the consequences or the damage. I should have interfered when Aemon and Baelon were raising you. I should have taught them how to raise children. It seems Aemon never denied you anything. And now, when you are denied something, you dare to blackmail me? Your king and your grandfather? It seems you need to be whipped into shape like the spoiled child you are. Viserys, come,"

Viserys nervously approached the king.

"Your Grace," Viserys said.

"You are my heir. It is time you learned how to say no when people want something from you, and how you respond to threats and blackmail. Take out your knife, make a small cut on your palm, and place it on the wall."

Viserys obeyed. He let out a small hiss of pain as he cut himself. The wall rumbled, and a small box-like opening appeared. Inside was a blood-red horn engraved with runes, made from dragonbone and weirwood. It radiated a powerful aura that screamed danger to everyone in the room.

"Take it," the king ordered, walking back to the rest of the family.

"Rhaenys, do you want to know why I did not punish my mother and uncle when I became king? Because I could not do so openly. Appearances had to be maintained, and the sacrifice of Maegor could not be wasted. So I did nothing openly, but I had my revenge in the year 59 AC."

Corlys gasped, his mouth falling open in horror and shock.

The king looked at him with a sadistic smile and continued,"You see, Rhaenys, your husband understood what I meant. The deaths in the Velaryon family during 59 AC were not caused by the Shivers. It was my curse. I used the plague to ensure only Daemon Velaryon—my uncle—and his youngest grandson would survive. The rest died painfully. My uncle knew it was me and never again dared show his face before me. It was a good couple of decades of Velaryon-free life for me, until the youngest grandson became wealthy through trade and voyages."

Rhaenys paled at the smile on the Old King's face.

Alysanne, shocked by the revelation and seeing her husband's unmasked cruelty, whispered in horror, "Husband... I see it now, and I believe it. You truly are Maegor’s son. No one except that sadistic monster could do such things." Her Targaryen grandsons and only son present were further frightened by the shadow of Maegor they now saw in the king’s grin.

"Viserys, come quickly. Stand near me. This is your lesson, one I learned in this very room from my then-unknown father. A lesson for a true heir."

Viserys, who had lagged behind, was afraid to approach the king. Even on ordinary days, the Old King had a presence that demanded respect and a touch of fear. But now, his presence was like standing before Balerion himself. Viserys knew nothing good would come of this. Even so, he obeyed and quickly approached.

"Now tell me, what would you do? This is, after all, your child - your cousin—being asked for in marriage. Tell me your plan, as if you are king."

"Your Grace," Viserys said, trying to remain calm. "Rhaenys is my cousin. We grew up together. We are friends. If circumstances were different, we might have wed and ruled together. My father loved his brother. My uncle, your own beloved heir—loved her more than anything. Let us end this fighting and join our lines. I am sure she only said those things because of the world-shattering secrets we have all learned today. We are not thinking clearly. Let there be no more grudges or fights."

Viserys finished and looked at Rhaenys, then turned to face the king.

There was a kind smile on Queen Alysanne’s face. Daemon scoffed. Vaegon remained calm and careless, still studying the runes on the horn in his hand. His younger brother Aegon sulked in the corner, seemingly unaware of what was happening.

And then—

Slap!

A harsh slap echoed through the chamber, and Viserys crashed to the floor.

The Rogue Prince’s hand reached for Dark Sister and he rushed toward Viserys, but a harsh glare from the king and a growl from Bronze Fury in the background, froze him in place.

"Pathetic," the king sneered. "Daemon, I believe what you said about King Viserys."

Viserys was stunned. No one had ever struck him outside the training yard. A scowl briefly formed on his face before it vanished beneath pain and fear. Blood pooled in his mouth. He spat it onto the floor, and with it came a broken tooth.

The king did not mind it and said, "Get up. Let me teach you how you should respond to threats, especially from a fellow dragonlord."

"Viserys, the horn in your hand is a legendary dragon binding horn. A horn bound to certain war dragons by their fire and blood to order them during the war even if they do not have riders. This is currently bound to, as you can guess, the greatest war dragon, Vhagar. A temporary bond is maintained, and orders are given mentally. Normally the person who blows the horn will die by the dragon's hand first, and the orders given while blowing the horn are followed through. In Valyria, normally the families use some lowly uninitiated member of their courts as a scapegoat, promising them the dragon itself. Then there are people the dragon knows very well and knows that the horn is blown in a situation for their help. Then the dragon will not attack the hornblower. Vhagar knows me very well. I have ridden and been near when Vhagar was ridden by my grandmother. Vhagar loved my grandmother. He loved my father, as for fifteen years he only rode in her with his mother. Vhagar knows me as his son, a person who was dear to her. Later my own son became her rider until this year. When I blow this, she will come and do my bidding without harming me. Rhaenys, do you want to guess what I am going to order her if I blow it now?"

Corlys and Rhaenys eyes widened in horror as they registered a impossible thought.

"Grandfather, please," she started, but the king interrupted sadistically.

"The first order is to kill Meleys and throw her body to the sea after having a hearty meal out of her as a reward to Vhagar for services rendered and for power. Next is to fly to Driftmark and make a new Harrenhal out of High Tide and other silly towns your husband built there by morning."

Horror-stricken faces looked at the king, except for the bastard prince. The bastard prince looked at them all as if it were a live play, and yet he had some respect in his face for the stone-cold heart to make the threat just issued. Even then, only one word echoed in their minds.

Kinslayer.

Not even bothered with the faces, the king continued. "The tale that the world will tell is pride comes before a fall and ambition leads to destruction. The realm will make songs out of your husband’s greed for the throne that led to trying to use his poor seven year old girl to try to bond to Vhagar for threatening me, for making his king choose his son as his heir. The realm will make songs out of the loyalty of Vhagar to his previous rider that made her go so angry in sadness and burned down Driftmark for their audacity to command her with a little weak child. Now this is going to happen right now if you continue to push me, Rhaenys. You are of course welcome to go on Meleys and try to stop Vhagar."

"Grandfather, please no," Rhaenys pleaded in shock and disbelief.

"Brother, do not do this, they are our children." The queen tried to be strong, but even then her voice was quite feeble as if she could not believe what her beloved husband had just done.

"Your Grace, please, how could anyone do such an atrocity? This is not war and there are innocent people in Driftmark," Viserys said.

"Yes, I will do such atrocity if that is needed to preserve the peace I built in life. I have sacrificed much for our house and the stability of this realm. I am too old and at the end of my life to care about what my beloved sister wife will think to limit my actions anymore. I have sacrificed my father to build this long peace and I had to punish my favorite daughter to maintain the ruse, and you think I will not punish the stupid granddaughter who disobeyed my order to marry you and married a man decades her senior? This is what it means to be a king, Viserys. Balancing your pride with restraint when needed, so that your legacy will endure.  Or do you all think I did not punish Daemon Snow because I love him? No. I will have my revenge on him one way or another, but the bastard is too powerful now and I do not want to risk my house for my pride."

Daemon Snow just looked intrigued at the king and tried to see how the old king could get his revenge. Daemon already knew his daughter Lyanna was here in Dragonstone, but even then he knew the king was not foolish enough to go that route. In the end, he had to dismiss it as just bluster to save face among the lesser Targaryens. His thoughts broke at a yell from Rhaenys.

"Order? What order? You just advised that Viserys will be the better choice, even disparaging my own fear of Daemon. I married because even now Viserys is too weak to actually defend the title if my bastard brother comes for it," Rhaenys snapped.

"A king's advice is an implicit command, Rhaenys. If you do not even know that, I wonder what made me think you would make a fine queen. As I said, my grandson will not come for the throne and you let your imagined fears and the hatred your mother had for the bastard girl and the hatred your father had at Daemon rule you. You only met him once and came back deciding to marry Corlys," the king replied back with derision.

"You were not there, Grandfather. What he threatened me with. He used me and tried to take Meleys for himself. Even now I cannot forget the pain both I and Meleys felt as he tried to bond with Meleys forcefully. And he would have succeeded if not for Meleys burning him. No one knows this. He is a monster in human form that made me almost a kinslayer."

They all looked at the otherworldly prince who never had any scarrings. Daemon graced them with a smug smile.

"And I thank you, dear sister and Meleys. It was that burn that allowed me to survive Cannibal’s first fire when I tried to bond with him. Without my own body adapting my trained fire resistance to withstand the magical dragonflames, I would have died that day in ninety five AC. Also, you are mistaken, dear sister. I had no intention to claim Meleys. I tried to warg him to make him breathe fire on me, and that was it. I had no clue it was meeting me that made you choose Corlys.  Daemon Snow said then grinned which turned to outright laughter. 

“Now you mentioned that, it is quite ironic, and I really enjoyed it." Daemon said through the laughter. 

"And now you want these monsters to be free and out there in Essos, and you will kill your own great grandchildren for it?" Rhaenys asked the king.

The king looked indifferent and answered, "Yes, I will, Rhaenys. They are Velaryons, after all. You have the higher station in that marriage and could have petitioned me to have them named Targaryen, if you had the pride in the name Targaryen, or named them Targaryen yourself. But the pride of the Sea Snake did not allow it, did it? So I will not even have to be sad after doing what I said. I punished and turned my favorite daughter into a whore to maintain the ruse of my supposed hatred for my father. It was the most heartbreaking thing I had to do, and I had to actually threaten the Volantene magister to marry her. The only thing I could do."

"I will not have my legacy be war and ruin, or worse, the end of dragons. I will not allow a weak king or a prideful idiot like Corlys near the throne to ruin what I have sacrificed so much for!" Jaehaerys yelled, ending with harsh breathing and crimson eyes showing his rage.

Rhaenys immediately took a breath, as if trying to yell back, but—

"Silence! I have had enough of this!" King Jaehaerys shouted. "Rhaenys, you are going to do as I command if you do not want me to blow this horn."

Jaehaerys took the horn and brought it near his face, preparing to blow it.

"Anything, Your Grace," Rhaenys said, defeated, after taking deep breaths to calm herself.

Jaehaerys looked at his granddaughter closely, as if trying to see the honesty in her words, then lowered the horn.

"Bend the knee, both of you. Apologize to me, and beg for pardon. Swear eternal loyalty to me, House Targaryen, and to my chosen heir. Now." Jaehaerys commanded. There was no smirk or smugness in his face, only calmness.

Rhaenys and Corlys looked at each other and obeyed without hesitation.

"Now, you are going to write letters saying that you are giving up your and your children's claims to the throne. You are going to write to every lord in the realm, and the ravens should fly tomorrow. In one month’s time, you and your family are going to bend the knee in front of the throne and apologize for contesting my decision for heir and give up your claim publicly. If anything that occurred here is heard by anyone outside this room, I will make sure you are paid for it. As for marriage with Viserys's children, I do not care about it. Do as you wish after my death. Viserys, this is how you respond to threats, not by appeasing them."

Jaehaerys finished by looking at Viserys.

Viserys looked down in shame. "Yes, Your Grace. I will strive to be better."

The Rogue Prince was looking at the brother he loved with new eyes. His loyalty was shaken, as the brother wanted that cunt Otto as Hand rather than him, when their father was preparing them as Aemon and Baelon. To even consider the velrayons for marriage when his own future child would be the perfect choice, he truly has to reconsider his position in Viserys heart.  The rogue prince did not even want to think about what his grandfather had done. A true madman who played the greatest trick anyone had ever played. The greatest trick to make the world believe he did not exist. The world believed in a sane but stern good king. Respect and fear for his king echoed in his mind again and again. Daemon, for all his temper, had already heard the rumors regarding himself, and here was the king who seemed crueler than even him and yet with the reputation of the Father himself.   

"Now, let us end this meeting for now and meet again tomorrow. There are going to be many changes to the realm and plans to make. It seems that ants have been growing in the dragon’s shadow for too long, preying on weaklings and younglings," the king said thoughtfully.

"Grandfather," the bastard prince began, "I only came to rest after some killing. Let me give you early notice. I glassed one of the small islands in the Stepstones. The ship captain I hired in King’s Landing thought it was a good idea to sell me and my wife to pirates who wanted us as hostages against the Iron Throne. Something I truly hate is slavery and cruelty for cruelty’s sake. So I made an example out of them by making the greatest fire the Stepstones have seen. Cannibal glassed the surface in its fire. He even used the killings and eating so much human meat to empower himself. As they say, fire and blood, you know. Now let me leave."

The bastard prince slowly turned back and started walking.

Everyone looked at the bastard prince like a madman. The king sighed and frowned at the thought of his already fragile relations with Essos, and where the bastard was going — to Essos with his daughter.

"Great. Another headache for me to deal with," the king said with frustration.

The prince turned and said, "Hey, do not be like that, Grandfather. Let me tell you one thing more. Contact Lord Stark and Lord Aethan Reed. The First Men will be eager to fight against the Faith and the Citadel. They may be able to help you. After all, they won the five thousand years of Andal invasion through various methods."

The king looked at the retreating back of his firstborn grandson, a true dragonlord of Valyria. In the shadow and darkness of the hall, the silhouette of his grandson made him remember his father, King Maegor. The architect who enabled his reign and House Targaryen’s current prosperity. His grandson had inherited the same madness and greatness — or maybe the cruelty — of the ancient Winter Kings. He looked at Viserys and Rhaenys. Even then, he saw their weakness, pride, and ego without the power to back it up.

Jaehaerys knew he could get his revenge on Daemon years later, but that would depend on whether his grandchildren behaved the way he wanted, let alone the idiots raised by them after he was long dead and irrelevant. He thought about how Aemon and Baelon had failed in raising their children even when he was alive and watching them. Imagining the next generation would be better was a fool's hope. Even now, he could see that Viserys was just appeasing him and Rhaenys was biding her time.

Jaehaerys sighed in defeat and closed his eyes in preparation. He opened them, and there was no defeat in them, only confidence.  He sent a silent prayer to the Fourteen Flames for the step he is going to take to be successful, if not atleast to not end in catastrophe.   

"And pray, tell me. Where are you going, my dear firstborn grandson? Do you really believe that I will allow you to leave after causing this much trouble for me, after helping me uncover plots but refusing to help more, after stealing my daughter, my sword, and a dragon?" the king asked, deadly calm and calculating every single word to make sure he would get what he wanted by the end of the upcoming confrontation.

The Queen, Prince, and Princesses were glad to see the back of the bastard, as the madness had started with his visit. They paled when the king tried to stop the madman from leaving.

The Bastard Prince did not bother to stop walking or turn around. Daemon said, “Wherever the sky takes us, Grandfather. I do not need anyone’s permission to do whatever I want. So…. ” He finished with a shrug.

“If you abandon us now, I will disinherit and disown both you and Gael from House Targaryen… ”

The Bastard Prince scoffed in the middle, as though the disownment was worthless.

“I am not a Targaryen. Whatever I have, I made it with my own power. I will do it again. Your words are meaningless to me in the long term.”

….Magically.” The King concluded.

The rhythmic sound of boots stopped. The Bastard Prince ceased walking, his shoulders tensed, and his frame coiled with tamed power.

The King casually said, “Aye, it is as I thought. You do not know about this meeting, this room, or the magic House Targaryen has from ancient Valyria. Your dragondreams do not extend beyond this room's protections. You told me that in the future you saw, House Targaryen lost its dragons and magic in thirty years. It lost everything due to the foolish decision I made to call a great council, and the foolishness of my heir Viserys.

You are playing god with our lives, dear grandson, and I have already identified your great plan. It is a pragmatic one that gives you the least trouble regarding your legitimacy and right to rule. You wanted the Dance to happen, and once both sides are nearly dead, you would step in as the savior who brought peace and stability, just like I did after Maegor. That would cement your rule. You are charming enough to make the naive young lords who survive the war your puppets and worshippers.

You wanted freedom, but the coming threat to the entire world forced you to take the crown. What better way to start a golden reign than by being the savior? After all, you have me as the perfect example. So no, you are not allowed to leave House Targaryen now and then come back when it pleases you. If a threat is needed to make you stay, then it will be made.”

The Bastard Prince turned slowly. The rage in his eyes was so intense that none except the King could bear to meet his gaze. Daemon was surprised the Good King had figured out his plan Maybe he did brag too much and needed to temper his arrogance and stop treating the world like a joke. The vow he had made made it possible—after all, it was not his fault if Viserys's heir was ousted and killed.  Daemon only need to come and just deal with Aegon after he killed Rhaenyra and then he would be the king, just because of personal power and the masses would eat up the good king and queen reborn propaganda, since Gael is his wife.  

“Your belief that whatever puny magic you have can override mine is hilarious.” Daemon said in derision. “I will leave and not be part of this madness, this farce of a Game of Thrones. I would like to hear what other threat you can make that will stop me. For your own sake, I hope it is not a threat like the one you made to your other great-grandchild just now.”

Jaehaerys looked curiously. “Your warging is impressive, Daemon, that you could see into even Dragonstone’s hidden rooms and know Lyanna is here.”

Daemon shook his head. “No, I do not have that many animals wherever I go. You were just foolish enough to invite one of my children—personally trained by me—to your citadel and then conduct a secret meeting. I felt her presence in that cat the moment I entered. Hello, Lyanna,” he said, waving toward a shadowed corner where a black cat lounged.

Almost everyone except the King and Daemon gaped in surprise, but they remained silent, feeling the tension and pressure bearing down on them.

Jaehaerys just waved his hand.

"I assure you I had no hand in it. She came looking for you, and she was very angry—something about not being invited to a marriage or something like that," Jaehaerys said with a knowing smirk.

Daemon sighed in defeat.

"Of course it's that. She had enough daring to ride Caraxes when I visited Winterfell. I wonder how she even found out about the marriage. Also, I’m sure you will not do anything about what she just overheard in this meeting."

 "Of course not," the king replied. "She is clever enough to know not to speak of this meeting. No, Daemon, I will not threaten her or your other bastards—at least not directly. But they will suffer the most indirectly. By banishing you, no child of yours will bond with dragons easily or naturally. The ability will fade if I cast you out from House Targaryen. Of course, they could tame a dragon, just like you did with Morghul. But the real question is—will they survive the attempt? Or will you have to handhold each one as they try to tame a beast?"

Daemon’s eyes glinted as he replied,

"That is a very good plan for you, my king. If I must kill you for it, then I will gladly behead you now before you can cast me out. Then there will be no imaginary threats to hang over my head or that of my children."

The Bastard Prince rested his hand on Blackfyre’s hilt, making the threat clear.

The king ignored it. He was already near death’s door and cared little for his life at this point.

"I assure you, Daemon, my curse will work perfectly. After all, every Valyrian must find a way to secure their rule over the House. You acknowledged me as your grandfather and the head of House Targaryen—that is all I need to make the curse take root. You will be banished from the magic that graces our bloodline," the king said with a shrug.

Daemon frowned and immediately contacted Morghul to confirm whether such a thing was possible. He almost roared in fury when Morghul confirmed it. Daemon studied the king carefully, trying to read his emotions. All he found was rage—and a surprising amount of determination. Even though Daemon knew success was unlikely, he decided to try anyway.

"So, you must have realized the reason behind my spreading bastards throughout the kingdom. You knew the purpose. And yet you dare condemn the future of this world? For what? Just to punish me? Just to have your revenge? You would gamble with the end of the world? With the end of your house?"

Everyone except Viserys looked at the king and the Bastard Prince as if they were speaking nonsense—to the Bastard Prince’s amusement and Viserys’ horror.

The king simply shrugged. "I will be too dead to care about the world or even my descendants, Daemon. The only thing I care about is my immediate legacy—not what happens two hundred years later. That is your problem, since you claim to be unaging and immortal, not mine. It will make your path far more difficult if you go through with this and refuse my suggestion."

If you wish to see this as revenge, then so be it. My original plan since your visit to King’s Landing was to ensure there would be no Dance for you to exploit. I wanted to deny you the easy opportunity. I wanted you to work for kingship if you desired it. But I couldn’t trust my idiot grandchildren to follow the path I envisioned—let alone the idiots raised by them. And so here I am, taking the greatest risk I’ve taken since cursing my own father. The difference is—I have nothing left to lose. You, on the other hand, have everything to lose."

"Then it seems you’ve gambled poorly, my king," Daemon said with a snarl as he half-unsheathed Blackfyre and then stopped.

The King just smirked at the sight of the half-unsheathed Blackfyre and shrugged.

"Maybe. But I know for a fact that you will not kill me. I don't think you want to start your marriage to my daughter by killing her father. Whatever dislike she had for us, she will hate you if you kill any one of us now. You just told us that you rewarded her by sharing your powers. She may not betray you for this, but she will be unhappy for a long time. And whatever journey you are embarking on will be ruined by that. You do not want to risk losing your magical potential as a Targaryen."

The King paused, then added with a smirk, "Also, Daemon, it seems I forgot one very important detail when I asked you to stay. It is an offer you cannot refuse."

He straightened his back.

"As I said, I had already planned to legitimise you—to explain Gael’s marriage and the dragon you claimed. Now I am certain of my decision. You are my heir. The firstborn son of my beloved firstborn, Aemon. You shall save us from whatever the future holds. And thus, you will be the legitimate king after me, while Gael will be your queen."

Everyone in the room, including the bastard prince, was astonished.

"What?" Viserys shouted. "Grandfather, I am the heir! I was chosen by the lords!"

Vaegon openly scoffed. "Viserys, don’t be an idiot. Even if all the lords had voted for Rhaenys, you would still have been chosen, because the King had already made his choice."

Immediate protests broke out from every corner of the room, voices overlapping and shouting over one another.

The King, who stood near the sturdy ironwood table, suddenly leaned forward and slammed both hands on the tabletop.

"Enough of this! I have made my decision, and I will not change it for anyone—not even for you, Daemon. You will accept the position now and be done with it."

Daemon’s thoughts raced as he weighed the pros and cons. The advantages outweighed the risks, yet the very idea of this being a punishment from the King, something handed to him on a platter, stung his pride. It rankled him to just accept it.

"No," he growled. "I don't want to be your heir. I have said it before and I will say it again. If I want to be king, I will take it with my own hands. I don’t need it handed to me like this, especially as part of some punishment."

His voice turned colder.

"I don’t care if I have to kill you right now just to make sure you don’t curse me after I leave. I could do it without any remorse or guilt."

Jaehaerys looked at his ever-prideful grandson and understood that he was speaking the truth.

"And what will you do then, Daemon? Let’s say you kill me here—then what? You will have to kill everyone else present to make sure word does not get out, as being known as a Kin-slayer will affect whatever plans you have.  And when the lickspittles in King’s Landing take power in the name of a regency, you will be forced to intervene. You will have to become regent, or even crown yourself king, just to ensure the realm survives. After all, is that not what you wanted? A powerful kingdom, ready for the end of the world? Your every move made it evident that was your goal and I allowed it all these years as it was good for my realm."

Daemon just frowned as he realized that more than being known as the kinslayer or for Gael, the greater problem came from the consequences of "cleaning house."

"Then I will walk away, Grandfather," Daemon finally said. "I don’t give a fuck about your curse. I tamed a dragon notoriously named the Cannibal. My children can do the same with the lesser dragons—or die trying if they are not worthy. As for the Dance, I have seen that the Song couldn’t be changed unless it is by my own hands. whether it happens 30 years from now or 60, it doesn’t matter to me. I will be still here to take over when it is time."

Jaehaerys sighed in tiredness. 

"Daemon, I have never given you advice or any lessons, but let this be the one piece of wisdom I offer as your grandfather. You say you are willing to condemn your children to death by your decisions, but take it from someone who has already done so—for personal reasons and for survival—it will break you. It will leave you wondering if it was ever worth it.

"I did it once. An unknown future child meant little when compared to Alysanne and my own life. You speak from pride and bravado now, but tell me—can you truly condemn Lyanna, who is currently on this island, to death? I still remember Alysanne mentioning her first meeting with her in the Godswood of Winterfell petting Silverwing. I can assure you that without the magic of our house, it would be impossible and she will try to meet all dragons, that now she is here."

Daemon’s eyes widened in horror and fury. The King smiled inwardly and continued.

"Daemon, are you sure your pride is worth the risk you are about to take? We both are clever enough to know there is nothing else but your pride stopping you from accepting this now. Take the kingdoms. If it is the pride of being handed the kingdom that is stopping you from accepting it now instead of thirty years down the line, then swallow that pride for now. Just like I did, by changing my decision on the heir—just now. Also, consider the amount of time loss you will have.  I will die in couple of years and you will have 28 years of reign before your planned time comes. Before the end of this decade you will ask yourself, was I foolish enough to not take the throne just because of my pride?

I know the pride of achieving something with your own hands. I sacrificed that pride and took the reins by waiting until Maegor died or gave the order. But unlike me, you are not limited to just six kingdoms, Daemon.

Oh, do not look at me like that. Or were you not planning to plant the seeds for your future conquest of Essos during the next thirty years you intended to wander there? The only difference now is that you already have the support of the six kingdoms, and you can take what you want, starting with Dorne.

Accept the position of my heir, Daemon. This has been your destiny since birth. We both know that, or your abilities would not have manifested otherwise. You are pragmatic and clever enough to make sure they did not stand out too much or stayed hidden as useless. You made the best use of your abilities. Think about the Iron Throne the same way, Daemon. What is better—inherit a fifty-year-old continuous administration with no wars, or take up a war-torn kingdom and increase your workload a hundredfold?"

"Enough," Alysanne snapped finally. "Why are you begging this bastard to be your heir, Jaehaerys? You are giving him the kingdom and he is rejecting it. End this farce now."

"Exactly, Grandfather," the rogue prince exclaimed, and the shouting started again.

The yelling and interruptions made the temper of the bastard prince finally flare. He screamed, and Blackfyre finally left the sheath.

AHH!!!

The rogue prince had seen many great swordsmen. He himself was one of the best with Dark Sister in his hands. He had seen swords become blurs in spars and battles, but this was the first time a swordsman became a blur. Even with all the yelling from Viserys, his grandmother, and Vaegon, he was keeping his eyes on his namesake, waiting to save the king’s life when the bastard inevitably drew Blackfyre.

So it was truly shocking when he just stayed frozen, helpless, even though he had expected it—watching the bastard prince disappear in a blur towards the king.

Viserys stopped yelling in protest of losing his heirship when he heard the shout. He looked towards his elder cousin and saw a blur approaching the king's table. The air shifted into wind at the speed of approach. He feared the worst when the sound of a sword being drawn rang out as the blur neared the table the king was leaning on.

The king had leaned forward onto the table, letting the others shout their protests. It was meaningless. The only relevant parties were him and his chosen heir. He had not looked away from his volatile grandson, knowing this negotiation required a delicate touch. He knew he would not be killed, so his heart nearly stopped when his grandson shouted.

The king blinked—and the next thing he heard was the sound of wood tearing and a sword swinging. The next thing he felt was the burning of his hands as they were rubbed raw against a rough surface. His hair flew loose from the wind generated by the impossible speed. He stumbled back two steps and looked down at his palms. They were red, and the skin had peeled in many places.

The rogue prince was shocked to see Blackfyre tear through the sturdy Ironwood from edge to edge horizontally, near the king’s hands. He saw the king looking at his reddened palms, skin rubbed raw by the sheer force of the passing blade. Slowly, Daemon understood the impossible skill that had just been demonstrated. Even with Valyrian steel, breaking Ironwood was extremely difficult. But by moving at such speed and strength, the new heir had cut through it while keeping the blade just close enough to graze the king’s palms without slicing them.

The bastard prince completed the swing, turned with the momentum, and sheathed the sword in the same movement. He finished the turn by sheathing and faced his grandfather.

"Never threaten me again in your life, Jaehaerys. I will forget that you are my grandfather and of Gael’s feelings," the bastard prince said with eerie coldness.

Then he just smirked.

"So, you want me to be the heir? Are you insane? All the lords except the North will protest, and it will lead to unrest. Your death might even start a war. The lords will try to use Viserys. You want to cause a certain war instead of a probable one in the future that I foresaw?"

"Congratulations, grandson, on becoming the greatest warrior in the realm. Even Maegor could not have blocked or dodged that sword strike," the king said, looking at his palms. He showed the reddened palms to everyone and continued, "It stings, but the pain is slowly fading. Now, I have only two years left, according to your dreams. I want to ensure House Targaryen prospers for eternity.  You just confirmed my decision. With you as king, whatever war happens, I am sure the dragons will survive, and so will the power of our house. With Viserys and the path I had chosen until now, I do not know if anything I did could prevent the war or the slow decay of our power."

Viserys scowled hatefully at the insult, but he remained quiet.

The king ignored him.

"I have conditions for accepting this burden," Daemon finally said.

"Conditions?" the younger Daemon snapped. "You dare to place conditions on the greatest power offered freely?" Daemon was enraged.

"Enough, Daemon. Let him speak," the king said.

"From today onward, you may remain king in name for the realm, but I will hold the true power, and there should be changes in laws and administration." the Bastard Prince said coldly. "You may oversee the day-to-day running of the kingdom as it stands—I will not interfere. But you will remain king for five more years. You will hold on to life by consuming my potions, and you will do it. The realm will need at least those five years to fully accept me as the new heir, to recognize my strength and the greatness I can bring. If you die in two years, then I will be forced to bring fire and blood to all the existing Lord Paramounts when they inevitably rebel against me. It will be difficult to train and replace new leadership, along with their followers, if I have to wipe them out."

King Jaehaerys frowned upon hearing the condition.

"I accept," the king said at last, as he had no other choice. "Let us end this now and rest for the night. We will meet again tomorrow to discuss the matter further—and the new laws you wish to implement to safeguard our power. I was already going to implement somethings and it will also serve as a useful distraction for the other lords, who otherwise speak only of the new heir and his origins"

Everyone else nodded with resignation, having no choice but to follow the orders of the Bastard King's heir, for now.

=====================================

Authors note:  So anyone saw that coming ? I named this bastard king II not as part 2 of last chapter but the second bastard king !!!!!!  this was planned from the beginning itself and the amount of effort it took for me to not  spoil,  whenever someone asks about dance is too damn high… 

Canon dance of dragons and timeline is officially fucked and daemon becomes kings far faster than even he planned or anticipated….  Jae finally decided, fuck it and declared the most probable candidate that will allow the survival of house Targaryen and the dragons all the while fucking over said person’s plans for vacation and some slave rebellions….   

GLH 16

Disclaimer: This is a story based on Harry Potter, Marvel, DC and Image comics characters and all recognizable characters, plots belong to Jk Rowling,Marvel, DC and Image comics. I claim no ownership to it.

Chapter 16: The World Was Not Ready : Part IV

The Gala

Maria Hill looked around the archaeological gala and she could admit it was one of the best, but she was no enthusiast. She was eyeing each and every one of the persons here, and the items displayed, for any type of clue to see why Fury asked her to attend this. Hill thought it was Fury’s paranoia at first, as he had ordered her to attend in full incognito. Even Hill had to admit that using another identity while wearing another face was one of the best ways to hide.

Ever since Fury came back from Britain, he had been more paranoid than ever. Hill still remembered the first meeting in which Fury assigned her to look into the Potter accounts and the millions entering the economy. Hill had almost shot Fury that day when he randomly took out his gun and shot at the corners and around himself.

Hill asked for an explanation, but Fury remained stubbornly silent.

There were no movements in any of the Potter accounts until a large amount was used to pay the owner of Facebook, an upcoming website that allowed people to find their friends. What made Potter pay such a big amount to what appeared to be an inter-university website, Hill did not know. She had to report it to Fury, and it was an interesting meeting.

"So you are telling me that Sirius Black and James Potter visited and bought fifty-one percent of this Facebook?" Fury asked, his thoughts racing as he tried to understand the reason.

"Yes. That is what they said," Hill replied. "The paperwork was impeccable and taxes were paid. Everything has been well above legal standards for such a large transaction. It is as if Potter wanted it to be as legal as possible."

Fury’s thoughts suddenly clicked into place, and he understood the reason behind the purchase.

"That motherfucker," Fury snapped.

"Sir?" Hill inquired.

"Hill, what is one of the biggest forms of soft power in this world after religion and money? It is media. They control the narrative, how the news is read, and what happens to whom. The internet has become common all over the world, and what is Facebook? A place where everyone could hang out, chat, and interact. That cunning bastard is investing in it to control the future narrative," Fury said with a sigh.

Hill’s eyes widened as she registered the implications.

"Hill, it is time that you are informed of more secrets," Fury said, and then briefed her about the gala, instructing her to be absolutely discreet.

Hill looked around as the gala wound down, and she still had not found anything of note. The only thing that stood out was the host, who made even her question whether she should be straight or not. The host was a raven-haired beauty, no doubt about it, but that was not what truly stood out. It was the sheer charisma and presence that made you feel warm and bask in it, which turned the gala into a wonderful event.

There were only one or two stragglers left when the host approached her. Hill looked at the host and smiled.

The host looked around and said, “Ah, agent of SHIELD. So, what brings you to my corner? Did Fury send you?”

Hill was shocked that she had been identified, especially when she should not have been under any circumstances. Her hand instinctively moved toward her hidden gun, but a small smile from the host stopped her.

“Oh, no need for guns, my dear,” the host said. “Call Fury and just ask him to come. I am in no mood for his stupid dramatics today,” she finished with clear exasperation.

Hill followed the unspoken order, and after almost an hour, they sat in the host’s home—something Hill could never afford. The entire mansion was located beyond the city limits and built with intricate Greek designs, though it had some modern touches as well.

Fury sat with a scowl as he looked at their host.

“So how did you know?” Hill asked, unable to figure out what had gone wrong.

The host simply shrugged. “Nothing you have done, dear. For a mortal, you are one of the best I have seen in spycraft. But I see more than with just my eyes. Even with you masking your strength, I can tell you are an exceptionally trained warrior. That kind of trait is not easy to hide from the body.”

Hill looked intrigued but simply nodded.

“Fury,” the host said, her tone sharp and expectant.

Fury rolled his eyes before responding.

“Hill, this is Diana Prince. Age: unknown. Threat rating: Omega class. Origin: unknown. Claims to be the demigod daughter of Zeus, the king of the Greek gods, and Hippolyta, the queen of Themyscira. She has been in America since the end of World War Two, where she worked extensively with Captain America. She is one of our backup options if a world-ending threat arises. Diana, this is Maria Hill, my deputy director, and I wanted to introduce you both.”

“What a charming introduction, as usual, Nicholas,” Diana said with a free, open laugh. “Do not worry about me, Hill. I am just a normal woman like you and your previous director, Peggy Carter—whom I liked significantly more than you, Nicholas. I do wonder why.”

Hill just nodded while Fury scoffed.

“So, what brings you to me, Fury? I can see you are still healthy and young. Are you planning to retire and decided to introduce me to your deputy?” Diana asked with a teasing smile.

Hill’s eyes widened as she registered the fact that this woman clearly knew Fury very well. After all, there would be no retirement for someone like him.

Fury simply shook his head. “I am here for two reasons. One, to introduce you to each other in case something happens. Two, I need some information and a favor from you. I will even owe you one,” he said with clear reluctance.

Diana just smirked. “This is interesting. I can at least hear you out. So, what is it?”

Fury then went on to explain what had happened in Britain and in the magical world. He described how there had been no response from Lord Black and whether Diana could reach out, since they were supposedly old comrades.

Hill has to use all her training to remain in control as she learned of the wizarding world and their current headache is ten year old boy, with boatloads of money and power. 

“Very interesting family you had, Charlus,” Diana whispered, though both of them heard her. “Fury, I have not been in touch with the magical world for decades, and I do not know the latest developments as you do. So, I cannot confirm or deny what you heard from Star or the royal mages. I can say this, though—the Potters have always been an exceptional family, and anything like what you just described could easily happen to one of them. I would not be surprised at all. Even fate has its favorites. As for Black, you seem to misunderstand. We were not comrades, as you say. Black was a friend of Charlus, and that is it. He fought, but only against wizards, and never against anyone else. I do not see why he would respond or allow you to meet him regarding this matter. I can at least assure you that Black will not harm Harry Potter or damage his interests. So, the financial matters must come from Harry himself or from other Potters, if any still exist.”

Fury sighed in frustration. “So, this is another dead end. Damn it all to hell,” he cursed.

Diana just smiled. “Ah, ah. I never said that. I said Black will not meet you people based on just a letter. He will definitely meet me if I simply go and ask politely. He knows enough about me to not deny me.”

Hill’s eyes widened in surprise, and Fury looked genuinely pleased for a moment.

“Well then, please inform Hill of what happens when you visit Black,” Fury barked as he stood up.

“No. Where are you going, Fury? I am not your errand girl,” Diana replied, her voice completely devoid of emotion. “In fact, I am free right now, and I am going to Britain. Both of you can accompany me or remain in ignorance forever. At the very least, I owe that much to Charlus and Dorea, to make sure their grandson is safe.”

Hill paled at the ultimatum given to one of the most influential men in the modern world. Fury simply closed his eyes and said, “We will accompany you.”

=======================

Hill looked through the glass of the invisible jet she was flying in. She could not believe the speed or the specifications of the jet as it soared over the forests of Britain.

Hill was curious. “So you just know where Black’s castle is?” she asked.

Diana simply nodded. “Yes, of course. I spent many days with Dorea and Charlus during and after the war. One of the places we frequented was the Black family castle, and I am quite sure it cannot be moved.”

“And this invisible, super-fast jet?” Hill asked with interest.

“Oh, my uncle does excellent work, dear,” Diana replied.

================================

Lord Black was going over the ledgers when his head rang with a sharp pulse as something struck the wards with tremendous force.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, not again,” Black muttered, remembering the last time someone banged on his wards.

He summoned a mirror and cast a few spells to observe the area outside the wards.

One of the most beautiful women he had ever seen stood just beyond the protective barrier, where a strange muggle flying machine was parked. Two other people stood behind her.

Black recognized the woman instantly and began cursing Harry under his breath.

He summoned the communication mirror Harry had given him and called out the most important passphrase to ensure Harry picked up the signal.

“Harry, I don’t know if you know or not, but the Greek demigod Diana Prince is standing outside my wards with two muggles. I can see the same logo from that letter requesting a meeting. What was it... sword, sheath...? No, SHIELD. What in Merlin’s name did you do across the pond to bring her here? What do you want me to do about it?”

Arcturus waited for several long seconds, hoping for an answer, but there was none. Hoping Harry would check the message later, he closed the mirror and apparated to the edge of the wards.

“Diana Prince. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lord Black asked from within the wards. His sudden appearance startled the two muggles, who immediately raised their small guns and aimed at him. Black ignored them completely, as if they were no more threatening than dust on his boots.

“Arcturus. Still looking good,” Diana replied with a smile. “Aren’t you going to invite us in? I just want to catch up, for old times’ sake... and for a few mutual friends we both miss.”

Lord Black studied Diana closely, calculating his options. He decided it was wiser to have her inside the Black family wards, should things escalate into a confrontation.

“Then, welcome back to the real world, Wonder Woman,” he said calmly.

======================

Some time ago.

Somewhere above Atlantic.

Harry thanked himself and his previous lives’ determination to crack the super soldier serum. He had been flying for over an hour using only the magical flight spell and telekinesis. He had been monitoring his powers through Body Scan, and when his magic reserves ran out, he simply used telekinesis to continue cruising. He had taken enough magical trinkets to stay hidden and was constantly using a notice-me-not charm. By his calculations, he had reached almost Mach 1 by pushing his entire magic and telekinesis to their current top level. Maintaining the speed was not the problem—it was surviving the speed, which required his passive shielding to increase in power as well.

The good thing was Harry was able to test how much faster his magical reserves recovered and how broken mutant powers were, to be honest. His telekinesis had almost no potential limit; he was only restricted by what his body could channel or process. His body, which had passed through the first adaptation ritual and the super soldier serum, was performing better than in all his other lives before.

By the time he reached the halfway point of the distance, he was almost in a meditative trance. One stream of thought worked through his plans, while another imagined how he would respond if attacked mid-flight or how any fight with flying opponents would go. His thoughts cycled through various strategies and simulations of fighting Iron Man, Superman, Magneto, and even Martian Manhunter.

Harry had tried to use the portals of sorcerers and, as usual, failed. He had the knowledge of Kamar Taj in his head somewhere, but he didn’t have the body to channel it. Usually, almost no casual wizard could use sorcery because their entire instinct was to use their own magic and not borrowed magic. It was very hard to channel others’ power and even harder to use both simultaneously. Harry had allotted one hour daily to practice sorcery and channeling borrowed magic.

Harry had decided to fly towards Gotham first and see what he needed to do. Even with the internet and media becoming more widespread, the true social media era had not started yet. Thus, Harry had to manually check the city for urban legends like Batman and others. In a way, Harry was thankful the social media era hadn’t begun, as he could still buy in during the initial stages. It was more than profit—Harry knew how much he could influence people through social media. He had three major things to do in America, and the last one of them was making contact with Clark Kent. Harry knew that Clark Kent would be around his age and thanked Death for it.

======================

Harry arrived in Gotham and almost collapsed from exhaustion. Even his enhanced body needed to grow further to have the stamina required for continuous use of heavy powers. He decided to crash in a motel and just sleep for a couple of hours before heading out at night, when the true rulers of this godforsaken city arose from their slumber.

Harry walked into a motel, and no one stopped him from taking a key from the stand and walking into a room. He waved his wand, and the room became sparkling clean while the bed turned softer than silk, complete with extra cushions.

Harry awoke to the alarm after four hours.

“Body scan,” Harry thought, and the thought immediately answered.

‘Exhaustion recovered. Still recommended to sleep for the night for complete recovery. Magical reserves at 40 percent. Psychic powers at 80 percent.’

Harry grinned. Even with 10 percent of psychic power, he could envelope Gotham entirely and scan for interesting parties. Every mind had a distinct presence, and those engulfed in crime had something different from regular people. They didn’t realize that deep down there was an underlying feeling of guilt and fear of capture.

Harry closed his eyes and channeled his telepathy outward. It expanded first to the entire building and then ballooned outward like an invisible explosion. Within minutes, all of Gotham was enveloped by him, and his mind lightly touched upon others like air touches every single one in the city.

Harry was surprised that he couldn’t enter Wayne Headquarters with casual telepathy. There was some interference. For a moment, Harry wondered why this new defense existed in a world where he personally knew the usual defenses of Wayne Headquarters and Wayne Manor.

The answer came to him immediately, supplied by his own Memory Cache.

“Fuck you, Professor X and Magneto,” Harry cursed. Bruce, the paranoid bastard, would of course know about mutants and would have taken precautions to block Professor X’s telepathy.

Harry decided to ignore Wayne Tech for now and concentrated on the criminal elements. He really wanted to know which Batman he was dealing with. The memories began to flow, and Harry frowned at first, then grinned as he realized the truth.

This was not the usual Batman with a no-kill rule who fights every hero that kills. This was a pragmatic one who realized his own weaknesses. Harry saw Batman’s first fights and the casual violence that even led to deaths due to lack of timely care. There were even some deliberate killings, just with fists and not with guns. Harry saw the gradual increase in violence until it stopped for two weeks. Looking further, he saw how much Bruce improved his control, and every takedown became precise and elegant. They were career-ending injuries for criminals, but no one died. The Wayne Group sponsored many rehabilitation activities in the prisons.

“Oh, Bruce,” Harry whispered, “so you realized you would become the monster you wanted to slay if you continued the killings and finally decided to control yourself. Now the only question is whether you are pragmatic enough to let go of other heroes’ personal rules.”

Harry concentrated his telepathy on Wayne Headquarters and even Wayne Manor. He tried to subtly enter, but he couldn’t do so without tripping whatever alarms were in place. Harry sighed in irritation, realizing he would have to physically visit those places.

Harry decided to visit Wayne Manor directly and got up from the bed. As he walked through the room, he caught his reflection and suddenly stopped as another thought hit him.

Bruce had no reason to know about Harry Potter or the magical world. If he introduced himself now, Harry wouldn’t be able to make his other moves in America without ensuring he wasn’t easily recognized by Batman. Especially while visiting the founders of the current social media companies and convincing them to let him buy in. He had already inquired with the goblins and, unfortunately, only Facebook was seeking seed money—and even then, the share was too low. They had also rejected the Britain-based shadow investor who only contacted them by mail and phone. Twitter was still developing, and Harry decided to wait until it became accessible to the public.

Harry chose to complete his other two goals before dealing with Bruce Wayne. Otherwise, he didn’t know where or how Bruce might begin to investigate the name Potter.

====================================

Harry grinned in satisfaction as he walked out of the Facebook office. He had consumed Polyjuice Potion and introduced himself as Sirius Black, a prospective investor. Harry didn’t need any legal trouble later, so he paid the full amount required to buy 20 percent of Facebook. Convincing them to sell was easy; he used the Charles Xavier trademarked “trust me” aura plus slight magical wandless compulsion. As a magical lord, people naturally wanted to follow Harry—or run away from him—especially muggles. Harry had enough training to control which aspect each person felt.

 Even with the subtle methods of compulsion, Harry knew they wouldn’t sell 49 percent to a single person, so he used two disguises over two days to acquire 25 and 24 percent in the names of Potter and Black respectively. Although the control remained with the founders, Harry knew that during listing he could refuse to sell his stake while others cashed in profits. This would allow him to raise his stake to 51 percent and gain control.

Harry also subtly used magic to plant a suggestion in the minds of the staff to work loyally and hard for the company’s development. He had sent a Patronus to Tonks to settle the payment using money accumulated in American accounts from dividends and also the fee for using the voting rights of 5 percent of Stark Industries.

Harry reached a nearby coffee shop and entered to have a drink. Still disguised as Sirius Black, he scanned the shop for any threats. One of his thought streams was already prepared with an escape or combat plan in case of an ambush—be it muggle, wizard, or mutant.

He took a sip of coffee and sighed as his body absorbed the energy. Harry was happy that he had acquired a critical piece for his future plans, even though he had to almost empty his liquid cash—twenty five million dollars—for the 49 percent stake. He frowned, knowing he had no money to offer for Twitter immediately, since his wizarding money transfer had not been completed yet. Being an economist in a past life, Harry knew there wasn’t enough muggle money in circulation in the wizarding world to easily convert his wealth. So how did the goblins do it? They had to melt down the galleons to gold and sell them to get USD.

He asked one of his thought streams for easy money-making ideas, and immediately a contract surfaced. Harry read over it—it was the Stark contract, giving a fixed payment for exercising his voting rights. An amount fixed in the 1950s and not increased since. Harry grinned as another plan formed in his mind that would net him some quick liquid cash.

Smallvile

Clark Kent, or the hidden Kal El, was not having a good week. He loved his parents, but their overprotectiveness and fear were getting to him. Clark knew he was different from the moment he could retain memories, and now, at age ten, Clark was more mature than even most fifteen year olds. He had always loved the sun, and he somehow understood that the sun was his source of power.

He had asked why he was different when he was five years old, but his parents just placated him without giving a good answer, saying he would know the truth when he was older. Clark first thought he was a mutant, but a little research made him doubt that, as it was specifically mentioned that almost all mutants got their powers during their teenage years. Also, the fear he could smell from his father whenever the topic of his powers being discovered came up was too much, even for him.

Clark had been holding himself back all his life, and he knew it was only his enhanced mind that made it possible there had been no accidents until now. His parents tried to understand his situation, but they never could. The last week was the perfect example.

He had unlocked some kind of X ray vision and super hearing, and the sheer pain was so intense that Clark felt like he was dying. Clark had never felt pain in his young life, and the sensory overload had been too much for him in school. He had pleaded with his parents to tell him the truth so he could at least find a way to control his powers, but they still said he was too young and ignored his demand. He had thrown his first temper tantrum and even damaged the old tractor, but there was no answer except more grounding and punishments.

The unlocking of his vision and hearing had happened one week ago, but the event three days ago and its aftermath were the reasons for his current anger.

Three days ago, the school bus he was traveling in fell into the river. His friends and classmates were drowning, while he realized he did not even need to breathe normally. He had been stuck in turmoil for the first minute, but seeing the panicked eyes of his crush, Lana Lang, made him act. He broke the glass window at the back, swam to the front, and somehow pushed the whole bus to the shore. Clark made sure to hide his face while doing this and even pretended to be unconscious among the students after making sure everyone was at least breathing and no one needed CPR.

The miracle spread across Smallville, and somehow, word got out about a boy pushing the bus, even though no one knew who it was. Many wrote it off as hallucinations from the boy who claimed to have seen it. The amount of scolding Clark got that night from his paranoid father was too much. Clark asked whether he should have just let them drown, and Jonathan paled, realizing what he was implying, then backtracked, saying Clark could have swum out some people instead of pushing the heavy bus.

Clark ignored his father for the next three days, but at dinner today, his father was pale and angry. He explained the presence of two men in suits who claimed to be from the FBI and were looking into the accident. Clark just ignored that and once again asked who he was and why he was powerful. This led to another argument and Clark being sent to his room.

Now Clark lay on his bed, stewing in his anger and imagining various things about his origin. It was then that Clark's super hearing picked up his parents' whispered argument.

"Jonathan, please, we must tell him the truth about his powers. It is more than late. Do you want Clark to genuinely start hating us?" Martha asked.

Jonathan sighed. "My love, I want to tell the truth. But I am afraid he will reject us. I am afraid he will not love us anymore if he knew the truth, that he is adopted and not our biological child."

Clark's eyes widened, and he almost screamed "No" in denial. His breathing quickened in shock, and then a horrific thought came to him. What if he was some experiment, stolen by the Kents? What if his true parents were out there looking for him?

Sadness, anger, and fear enveloped him, and he felt suffocated in his room. He jumped from his bed and landed on the floor with a heavy thud. He moved toward the open window, jumped down, and then started running with all his power when his feet touched the ground.

Clark did not know whether his vision was blurry because of the speed at which he was moving or because of the tears. He had only run for a moment when suddenly he hit something and, for the first time in his young life, was stopped in his tracks. Clark's eyes widened again in shock as he realized that whatever he hit had just been pushed several meters backward, while he was stopped.

Then a child's voice with a British accent reached his ears.

"Fucking hell, that hurt, Clark. If it was anyone else you bodyslammed like this, they would have died, you idiot, and you would have your first body count."

==============================

Harry swallowed a groan as his Body Scan suppressed his healing, deliberately avoiding the slight breaks in his bones and the bruises forming. He had been observing Clark through telepathy and had subtly nudged Jonathan and Martha to finally have that long-overdue conversation. Understanding the emotional turmoil Clark was in, Harry discarded his original plan of pulling a Batman and appearing out of the darkness in a superpowered child’s bedroom. After Clark ran away, feeling like he was suffocating in his room, Harry positioned himself in the boy’s running path.

But harry made a slight miscalculation of Clark’s strength and speed.  Even before he could increase his passive shield to full power,  and channel telekinesis to his body,  he was hit.

Clark’s eyes activated automatically in panic, and he saw the breaks in the bones. His ears picked up the slight wheezing from the boy in front of him. Even while seeing the injured body, Clark’s instinct screamed at him to be careful, but it vanished as quickly as it came, as if he had imagined it.

Immediately, he felt guilty about the pain the boy must be feeling, even imagining the blast of gore the boy would have become if he were ordinary.

More than that, it was almost a minute later when Clark registered the fact that the strange boy had called him boy and talked about killing casually. He knew he should feel fear, but for some reason, he could only muster some weariness about the situation. He felt that he could defend himself and face whatever would happen in the future.

"Who are you, and are you okay?" Clark asked hesitantly.

Harry looked at Clark while continuously blasting his trust me aura and other subtle boosts to his charisma. He also had to keep an eye on Clark’s thoughts, even though they were moving much faster than Harry had ever seen in any mind.

"Hello, Clark Kent... or should I say Kal-El?" Harry said dramatically with a grin, raising his hand for a handshake. As Harry raised his hand, he immediately winced in deep pain and groaned.

Clark looked puzzled at the name Kal-El but moved forward with speed to support the groaning boy.

"I am so sorry," Clark whispered in horror.

"Ah, no problem," Harry said, waving his left hand. "Let me take care of it before introductions then. I thought I could hold on and not surprise you further."

Harry deliberately summoned his wand from its holster while Clark raised an intrigued eyebrow at the wooden twig.

Harry commanded his body scan to restart his healing while casually waving his wand, making a golden aura envelop him. Clark, intrigued, used his x-ray vision to see the bones healing in real time,very fast. Faster than even himself as a toddler.

Clark opened his mouth to ask, but Harry immediately raised his hand to stop the questions. "I will explain it later, Kal."

"No. Not Kal," Clark replied at once. "I am not Kal-El or whatever. I am Clark Kent, as you called me first, and I really want to know how you know me."

Harry sighed tiredly and sat down on the ground. Even though Harry gestured for Clark to sit down, Clark ignored it and remained standing, prepared for anything.

"Well, let’s start from the beginning. My name is Harry Potter, and I don’t know if you will believe it, but we are future friends and teammates in a superhero group called the Justice League. I got a vision of the entire future months ago, and I was finally able to come to the one person who is my age and my friend in that future."

Clark remained silent in shock before he snorted. "You are mad. I will never use my powers in public. All I have ever wanted is to be normal like the rest of my classmates. I am just a farm boy."

Harry just shrugged and ignored the denial for now. "So, you believe I have future knowledge, but not the whole truth?"

Clark thought for a moment. "No. I don’t know. You really have powers, as I just witnessed, but I don’t think you know the entire future. How can anyone know the future like that?" Clark said in frustration. "How do I know you are not some shapeshifter sent here by the Feds after the bridge incident?"

Harry smirked. "I don’t know why so many in the future thought you were a muscle-bound idiot when you show such cleverness," Harry said teasingly. Then he continued without a smile, "I know the timing is suspicious, but I assure you, I have no relation with any government—at least not the normal ones. You want proof that I know the future and was your friend? Then maybe I should tell you the truth about you and even show you proof—something only someone close to you in the future could have known. I can see your parents have yet to tell you about your origins."

Clark’s heart leapt at the offer. He knew he wanted to hear the truth, especially now.

"Then tell me, and let me see whether I can agree with your last point," Clark said tensely.

"Okay, Clarky boy. Usually I wouldn’t change the future so drastically, but since that future is already fucked up, maybe you knowing the truth earlier and training your powers faster is best for everyone," Harry said thoughtfully.

Clark could see that his supposed future friend was in doubt, yet he focused on the other part about training and grimaced.

"Harry, I want to know the truth, but not for training to be some superhero. I want the truth so I can live normally and control my abilities perfectly. All I have ever wanted is to be a normal person, take care of the farm here, and not have powered people chasing me," Clark said with a warm, innocent smile and hope in his eyes. He looked at Harry, and his smile faded when he saw the pity in Harry’s expression.

Harry just smiled politely. "Clark, do you want to know where I was when the vision hit me?"

Clark felt a sense of foreboding, but his curiosity won, and he nodded.

Harry closed his eyes and said, "I was near death in my bedroom under the cupboard in my uncle’s house in Britain. The cause was another beatdown from my uncle—just because I was a freak with magic. I might have even died that day if the impossible didn’t happen. I awakened my mutant ability, and there was a huge explosion that vaporized my uncle’s house along with some people."

Clark’s eyes widened in horror and pity. He immediately stepped forward, picked up Harry by the hand, and hugged him. Harry allowed it.

"I am sorry, Harry, that you had to go through that," Clark said while patting Harry’s back.

For a moment, Harry’s iron control over his mind slipped, and his eyes even watered slightly.

‘I can see why you are the beacon of hope and justice in almost all the universes you exist in, Kal-El... no, Superman,’ Harry thought with a grateful smile, before squashing every positive thought except the web he was weaving.

Harry moved back, and to Clark’s surprise—even when he didn’t want the hug to end—Harry shook off his hold and stepped away.

"Thank you, my little friend," Harry said with a kind smile, "but I don’t need it. I might have hugged you and never let go if I were just a ten-year-old. My body is that of a ten-year-old, but my mind has been overwhelmed with memories of my future—our future. The blast and unconsciousness gave me the vision and answered my questions. I never knew why I was a freak or why strange things happened around me. The vision answered all that. I am a wizard. Yes, the broom-flying, wand-waving, potion-making kind. And the wizarding world is hidden from the mundane one by age-old magic and laws. I saw how I would receive a letter from a magic school at age eleven, how I would learn the truth about my parents’ murderer, and how I survived the impossible—the killing curse. I saw how I became an overnight sensation and a celebrity. I saw the years I would spend in that world, the wars I would fight, and how I would kill the dark lord who murdered my parents. Later, I saw how the world reacted to superpowers and the wars that followed."

"You see, Clark, all my life—even in the vision and this one—I only wanted to be normal and have a family of my own. A wife and three children to love and spoil. To live without bothering anyone and then die peacefully to meet my parents. That’s all I ever wanted. But fate and death had another role for me. I was never meant to be normal. Never meant to be ordinary. The more I ran from it, the more people I lost and the more I suffered."

Clark’s enhanced mind raced as he absorbed the revelations and realized how similar he was to Harry.

Harry sighed and continued, "It breaks my heart to say this to you, my friend. You and I are alike. We both wanted normal human lives, but our paths were shaped by our births. You will never be normal, Clark, because you can never be without your powers. If that were the case, your parents should have sent you to a planet orbiting a red sun, not a yellow one—where a Kryptonian becomes a god. Even now, with less than one tenth of your normal power, you are one of the most powerful beings on the planet. Just your mind alone is enough to prove that, and I am glad that it was a loving couple like the Kents who raised you, and not someone like my uncle."

Harry concentrated on Clark using his senses and cold reading. There was a moment of delay between Clark hearing and processing Harry’s words. Harry nudged Clark’s mind slightly, stirring curiosity about his powers and what else he could do.

"No..." Clark snapped. "What are you saying? Another planet? No. I am just a mutant who gets power from the sun—not an alien. Aliens are not real. Everyone knows that."

Harry grinned. "Well, you are an alien to me, Clark. And to be fair, we are aliens to each other. I am surprised you realized the sun is the true source of your powers. You are a Kryptonian, and your parents sent you here because their planet blew up."

Clark stared in disbelief, shaking his head as if that would make things right. Harry gave him time to recover from the shock.

"Give me proof, Harry," Clark said, unusually stern.

Harry nodded. "Of course I can give you proof. Come, let’s go to your farm’s barn. I’ll show you the hidden space shuttle."

Clark ran back while Harry flew just above the ground. Clark’s eyes widened in surprise and awe.

Harry just shrugged. "Don’t be surprised, Clark. You can also do it easily—and much faster—very soon."

Clark almost tripped upon hearing that, but a slight telekinetic nudge from Harry saved him.

They reached the outside of the farm and looked at the barn.

"There is a storm cellar under the barn. Use your x-ray vision to find it," Harry ordered.

Clark nodded and activated his vision. At first, there was nothing, but after a casual scan, Clark saw the hidden space and a metal cylinder he could not see through. His breath hitched as he realized it might be the space shuttle he had arrived in.

"So?" Harry inquired from the side.

"There is a hidden cellar, and there is some metal cylinder I couldn’t see through," Clark replied in a horrified whisper.

"Come then," Harry ordered as he waved his hand.

===============

It was almost two hours later that Harry saw Clark coming out of the cellar. Harry had given him some time alone in the name of privacy. He was sitting on one of the benches outside the barn, looking at the night sky and planning his next moves when Clark called out to him.

"Harry."

Harry looked at Clark and immediately noticed his red eyes from crying. He nodded and smiled kindly before asking,

"I hope you believe me now, Kryptonian."

Clark snorted slightly and gave a small smile.

"I believe you are telling the truth about me. But how do I know you're my friend and not an enemy?" Clark asked with a frown.

Harry just scoffed.

"Believe me, Clark, if I wanted to harm you, I wouldn’t even need to use your greatest weakness. Magic is one of your natural weaknesses, and I am one of the most powerful wizards walking this planet right now. You are just a boy, and I could easily defeat you. I have no need for subterfuge. And for your information, let me tell you the truth: I wouldn’t even feel guilt if I had to end you for some reason, because this is a do or die universe, Clark. Our enemies are so superior that I don’t have the time to go easy mode on the flies of Earth."

"Kal-El," a slick silver-colored device shaped like a toy stick floated out from Clark’s wrist and hovered at his side, "based on every scan, the individual calling himself Harry Potter is telling the truth. He is highly dangerous, and even in such a relaxed state, his esoteric and psychic energy is superior to whatever reserves you have built. I suggest you be highly cautious if you want to engage in hostilities."

"Hello, Kelex," Harry said with a grin. "I thought you would be inside the Sunstone and not inside the pod. Intriguing.".

 Clark’s eyes widened in surprise and he sighed but remained silent.

"Hello, Harry Potter. Jor-El thought it would be better for the family to know what Kal-El would need, and thus stored me inside the pod. But unfortunately, after taking the baby, the Kents never opened the shuttle, and I remained in hibernation."

"Yeah, Jonathan appears to be far more paranoid than I thought," Harry said with a shrug.

"So, psychic energy?" Clark asked, intrigued.

Harry nodded.

"Yes. As I said, I am a mutant too—and a powerful one. I’m both telekinetic and telepathic."

Clark’s eyes widened in weariness for a moment before Harry grinned.

"Ah yes, I’ve already read your mind. You’re under my thrall."

Harry extended his hand mockingly while miming a puppeteer. Small strings made of light appeared, connecting to a doll in Harry’s hand.

"Kal-El, I scanned your body thoroughly when you touched me. There is no other form of energy working on you. My hypothesis is that Harry Potter is teasing you," Kelex said from the sidelines.

Clark nodded.

"Yes, Sherlock," he said. "The sarcasm was pretty evident, Kelex, though thanks for the confirmation."

Harry just grinned, internally patting himself on the shoulder.

"Harry, as much as I am thankful for your help, I want to know—what do you want, and why did you decide to meddle? You said you came all the way from Britain, and I may be a young boy, but I’m not naive enough to believe it’s only for friendship." Clark asked with a frown.

"No, you're correct. I’m here for other purposes too, and you’ll see them soon enough. But one of the major goals was always you, my friend. You’re young and no one knows you exist. This is the perfect time to get rid of everything that could harm you—and all the weaknesses you have."

"What weaknesses are those? I’ve never been sick in my life," Clark said with a grin.

"Well, first one is this."

Harry reached into his pocket and took out a pouch. He opened it, and a green crystal floated out.

The moment it was exposed, Clark felt his breath hitch. Then came a slight weakness, followed by nausea unlike anything he had felt before. He almost wavered where he stood before the green crystal vanished into a chain with a locket.

"This is kryptonite. It is irradiated with the blast that destroyed Krypton. It will weaken you, even kill you, if exposed frequently. This is my gift to you," Harry said, extending the chain.

Clark looked at Harry like he was a madman.

"Why do I need that?" he asked.

"Clark, this chain is enchanted. Just wear it," Harry snapped.

Clark took the chain and wore it.

"Now think of one percent," Harry said. Clark focused, and suddenly his breath hitched slightly, but this time he only felt tired, not weak.

"As you can see, you can control the percentage of exposure and slowly increase the threshold so you can adapt and become stronger. This can help in your daily life too. If for any reason you wanted to be normal, just set it to fifty percent and you’ll appear like a sick, normal kid. Do not use more than one percent unless you can run for an hour at super speed. After that, increase only one percent at a time, and I suggest testing it out in bright sunny afternoons. Cut the percentage to zero every night. Use it only with sunlight," Harry explained.

Clark looked confused before calling,

"Kelex?"

"Kal-El, this is basic conditioning training for Kryptonian soldiers deployed to yellow sun systems in ancient times. Though no one has undergone this kind of barbaric training for millions of years on Krypton. Kryptonians now use suits to filter out harmful radiation when needed."

Clark still looked unconvinced.

"Harry, is it really necessary for me to train? I don’t even want to be a hero. I just want to be me."

"I’m sorry, Clark," Harry said. "Ask yourself this question, Kal-El—do you want to live your whole life holding back, in a cardboard world where a sneeze might destroy someone? Or do you want to be truly free?"

Clark only had to think for a moment before he got his answer.

"You understand then," Clark said in wonder.

"Yes, Clark. I understand more than anyone else. I just murdered as much as possible by awakening and then went into hiding, while the entire wizarding world and international spy agencies started looking for me. There are those blessed by Lady Magic more than others—born special. I’m one of them. Even without my mutant powers, my magic is at my fingertips, ready to serve me and bend reality to my will. Without training, we are very dangerous, Clark."

"Then I’m with you, Harry. Tell me how to train with your spooky future knowledge," Clark said with a grin, making weird gestures with his hands.

Harry grinned and said,

"Gladly, my friend and Welcome to the real world, Superman."

====================================================

Authors note : maybe should have added the batman scene too and so the trinity is introduced in same chapter.. ah whatever!!

So pa kent is paranoid because of the mutants and their treatment by govt.. rumours of experiments etc.. 

and harry acquired one of his trump card in his plan... superman...

ADS 40

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 40: The Bastard King- I

As Vaegon finished reading the letter, silence descended in the halls. There was not even the sound of breathing. Everything they knew of their origin was false. They had always believed it was thanks to Jaehaerys that the current reign of the House of the Dragon was so deeply rooted, but the truth was far darker. The origin of the plan came from Maegor the Cruel—the mad, the master manipulator who had truly forged the foundations of their rule. Their grandfather had simply continued the lies, peddling them to the masses, making sacrifices for the glory of their crown. The king himself was a bastard, born out of wedlock, but of the elder line according to Valyrian tradition, and even the best dragonlord at the time of his ascension. Everyone was shocked, trying to reorganize their understanding of the world at once.

A sharp, piercing sound shattered the heavy silence.

"Lies!" Queen Alysanne shouted, her voice filled with anguish. "Our mother was not a whore. She was a faithful lady who prayed in the septs and was loyal to our father. Also, what in the name of the Seven Hells do you mean by sacrificing my future children, Jaehaerys?" She was devastated by the damning contents of the letter.

Jaehaerys looked defeated like never before, but he shook his head, as if trying to clear the weight of tiredness and despair that had enveloped him.

"My love, I am deeply sorry. I confronted our mother, and she revealed the truth. She willingly slept with Maegor. Father was weak, not a warrior, and our mother always had a preference for warriors, muscled beasts—you know this. Why did she marry Rogar if not for that? Maegor was a warrior without peer in his time. Mother attempted to seduce him, and he seized the opportunity to ensure his bloodline survived. Our four children, dead in the cradle—I do not know how many we lost due to my actions, natural causes, or assassination."

A sudden piercing laughter  from Daemon Snow broke the tension.

"The look on your face, Grandmother. It is truly hilarious. What were you calling me earlier? I can’t quite remember," Daemon said with a thinking pose.

"Ah yes, bastard, right?” Daemon continued with a nod, “How many children did you have with the bastard king again? Please, remind me. Also, I don’t want to be crude, but still, I hope you don’t get a heart failure remembering how much you catered to a bastard’s lust and his cunning plans. Maybe the Faith is right Grandmother, bastards are full of vile cunning and lust for their sisters."

Alysanne almost fainted, as if her entire life replayed before her eyes. She could not decide whether her love for Jaehaerys or her beliefs weighed more. She tried to open her mouth even in her shock, but a harsh command from the king stopped her.

"Enough from both of you," said the commanding voice of the king. "Especially you, Daemon. You got one arrow in, and I thought you were pragmatic and mature enough not to needlessly needle people and create new enemies where none exist."

Snow just shrugged. "You can’t blame me. It was just too damn ironic and funny to ignore. I had to make some quips about it."

The other Targaryens in the room looked bewildered by the exchange.

"Daemon," the king said in a tired voice, "now please tell me why you are here when you were not invited. I forgot to ask when you made your overdramatic entrance."

The king finished with a slight edge of mockery in his voice, clearly trying to move past the revelation about Maegor.

"No. No. No, Jaehaerys. You will not change the matter," Alysanne snapped. "Why did you do it, Jaehaerys? Why did you crown yourself king even after knowing the truth of your origin? Why was it not Rhaena, or even our nieces? You followed a madman’s plan as if it were gospel. Why did you not tell me this all our lives?"

Jaehaerys looked at Alysanne with sadness.

"There was no choice, my dear sister. As you yourself just said, one does not simply disobey a madman riding Balerion. I could not endanger your life knowing what I knew of the Black Dread. Also, after reading the letter and thinking it over, I saw a path forward for our house. Grandfather Aegon gave three decades of peace, and yet fanatics still rose up for a religion that never cared about them. Do you know why? Because they had nothing else to hope for. Nothing else to believe in.

Maegor gave them a villain so terrifying that anyone who made peace would be seen as a savior. We were right to continue that legacy. I gave them the good king and queen, the loving couple. An entire generation would grow up knowing only the peace brought by the dragonlords, not by seven stone idols. I could not achieve that if you showed anything but love and complete devotion for me. So I hid the truth all these years. I disparaged a man I respect and made him the greatest evil of our time. All for House Targaryen. All for the crown and to establish the legacy of House Targaryen as the Kings of this land."

Alysanne remained silent, deep in thought. She appeared so weak that she nearly sat on the floor right there, but Aemma came and gently helped her to a chair at the side.

The king looked around at the rest of his descendants.

"Now that is over. None of you deserve any kind of explanation, and the only one who could even ask has had hers. So, Daemon Snow, answer my question."

Daemon Snow looked amused as he bowed exaggeratedly.

"Grandfather, the last time we spoke, you informed me about the threats across Essos. Also, thank you for the current history lesson. You have helped me by revealing the truth. My future knowledge is from a point where I make no change—as if I am not present to influence the story. Until now, I thought I knew every magical threat that could endanger me and mine, but it seems I was woefully underinformed. Clearly, more research is needed. I owe you one for informing me about the Faceless Men, Grandfather."

Jaehaerys looked intrigued, wondering whether Daemon had already encountered them, but even before he could ask, another voice interrupted from the side.

"Bastard, if you owe something, then return my dear daughter to me. You defiled her and corrupted her," the queen snapped.

"It seems to me that you didn’t quite explain how I operate, Grandfather," Daemon said with a mocking grin. "And don’t pretend you didn’t grasp the implications of my actions."

 Jaehaerys grimaced at that, knowing his grandson had correctly guessed the truth. Well, at least the bastard is as clever as I am, Jaehaerys thought, remaining silent against Daemon’s taunt.

“Explain what?” Viserys finally asked mockingly. “That you know the future and used it to gain undue advantages?”

Daemon looked surprised at Viserys, as if he had not expected anyone but the king to engage in the conversation.

“Oh, fools,” Daemon snarled. “I influenced Gael because she was a nonentity. She could not influence anything, because she would be dead by now if not for me.”

The queen gasped in distress.

“Yes, dear loving queen. Your love for Gael, your suffocating love, made her take her own life. She would have died in 99 AC if not for me. Why should a no-name bard take her virginity and her love when I, a more worthy person, could use her as a sacrifice for my needs in a ritual?” Daemon said. 

Everyone was flabbergasted to hear such rituals existed, even King Jaehaerys.

“What ritual? I know of no such thing,” the king asked, intrigued.

“Aye, of course you do not, Grandfather. This is my own creation, mixing several rituals and principles,” Daemon lied with an open grin. “When I planned and researched it, Gael became the perfect subject. Thirteenth and last daughter of a magical king and queen, so innocent and naive. The perfect sacrifice. Initially, I decided to take her virginity and life for my own gain. Specific numbers are powerful—thirteen, seven, three, twenty-one. The ritual site, the numbers, the symbols, and more than anything else, her loving willingness. She was twenty-one on her nameday. Everything was perfect. At least, that was my plan when I seduced her in 98 AC, during your fiftieth year celebration. But what I didn’t know was she had turned herself into a honeypot, and the fool I am, I fell for it.”

Everyone looked bewildered for a moment at the unfamiliar term, until the Rogue Prince snorted, grasping the meaning first. He knew the marriage had happened and that the ritual had not, so it was easy to understand what had transpired.

“The ritual took place on the seventh day of the seventh moon, on the Isle of Faces, in the fire of my dragon. But she knew I was going to kill her. I asked her why she was still willing. Do you want to know what she said to me?” Daemon asked, taking a few deep breaths before continuing.

But Jaehaerys interrupted with a harsh command.

“Daemon, that is enough. We do not want to know the horrible things you did with my daughter. I know she is alive, as you said, and that she married you. Meeting her one final time before you leave for Essos is enough for me.”

Daemon looked crestfallen and considered ignoring the king and saying it anyway just to hurt Alysanne, but he decided not to provoke the king more than necessary. He did not want to be known as a kinslayer—not yet. So he merely shrugged and mimed closing his mouth.

“No,” Alysanne snapped. “Jaehaerys, you may not care about the girl children you had, but I care about them immensely. I want to know what made this evil bastard change his mind. I want to hear it.”

Jaehaerys nearly ordered her to stop, but seeing the hatred and anger aimed at himself in Alysanne’s eyes, the old king closed his own and fell silent.

Daemon just grinned and informed them:

 "I’m glad you asked. Daemon, there is no specific reason. The truth is, I love you. And what is love, if not the willingness to sacrifice everything for it? If you really want to know—the first day you sang for me, I knew you were going to kill me. I was always the useless Gael no one cared about, except for being the daughter of a king. I knew you were using me. I knew you were my nephew. I dreamt of it. I dreamt  the change you brought by replacing the filthy bard who cheated on me. I knew you were feeding me your blood to heal my mind and body. As I recovered, I saw you clearly, and I loved you. Why shouldn’t I? No one else has ever loved me for me. My mother saw me as a replacement for my sisters. She would’ve killed my child and me with moon tea. My father and my mother denied me—first Viserys, then Daemon, then every man who proposed to marry me. So why shouldn’t I be willing, when one member of my family saw me, even if just to use me? You gave me the greatest days of my life, Daemon. I was never meant to see 100 AC, but you made it possible. Let me return the favor. If your greatest days come from sacrificing me, then so be it. I will do it out of love and respect I have for you, nephew.”

Everyone was astonished by the speech. Daemon continued, “Yes, I was like you all, surprised beyond anything. For the first time in this life, I decided not to be selfish. I chose to change a decision I had made—not for myself, but for another person. I decided that Gael’s love, respect, and loyalty toward me should be rewarded, not by death at my hands. So I modified the ritual and made it something wonderful. I created a bond, a magical marriage bond, anchored and sealed in fire and blood. A bond that allows us to share things between us. Fortunately for us, I had the perfect sacrifice to offer : three dragon eggs that I took as the dowry . Now she will not die unless I am dead, and I will not die as long as she is alive. I shared my powers with her. Her magical strength is rising. She heals faster. Her body is becoming more powerful. It will continue to grow until I can speak to her through our minds. She is currently sleeping under Sheepstealer’s wings on this island, having completed the bonding with the dragon. She waits for my return so we can fly to Essos and begin our travels.”

Everyone, except the king, was looking at one another in stupefaction. They didn’t know what to think or do after hearing of this kind of magic. Alysanne was muttering "no" over and over, overcome with horrible realization and shock. Jaehaerys looked at his wife with concern, but seeing that she was too far gone in her horror, he turned his attention away. He nodded in thanks to Aemma, who was comforting the old queen.

It was the rogue prince who finally broke through the stunned silence as one fact registered in his mind. “You bastard! You sacrificed three  dragon eggs? You stole from us. You dared to use them in your selfish, concocted rituals that may or may not even work!” He turned toward the king. “Your Grace, how could you allow this madness? Please give the order, and I will make sure he pays for it.”

Daemon Snow simply smirked, and the rogue prince suddenly saw himself in that expression—the way others must have seen him when he smirked while taunting. It was infuriating beyond belief.

“I didn’t steal anything, my favorite cousin. Our grandfather gave them to me as dowry. After all, the gift should match the worth of the princess. In fact, you should thank the king. He voluntarily added Blackfyre to that gift. Originally, I had planned to take Dark Sister with me.”

The king remained silent, choosing to observe the interaction and see what else his bastard grandson would reveal in his arrogance. He would only intervene if things escalated into violence.

The rogue prince spluttered at the audacity but quickly replied, since the King remained silent regarding any punishment, “That is certainly something. Now why don’t you surrender Blackfyre, which belongs to the king and his heir, and leave with your wife for your vaunted travels?”

“No, my dear cousin who shares my name, Blackfyre belongs to a warrior king. Regretfully, the current king is past his sword-wielding days, and his heir—well, he is Aenys reborn. No, he is weaker than Aenys. At least Aenys had a dragon. King Viserys will be the most foolish king to ever rule, and his reign will ultimately lead to the destruction of House Targaryen—if not for my own existence. Such a king does not deserve to use this magnificent blade as a walking stick.” Daemon snow replied back with mocking grin that enraged many.

“What?” both the rogue prince and Viserys shouted.

“I am not foolish or weak. I am the heir chosen by the king and the lords of the realm. They believe in me,” Viserys replied with a trained sternness he usually reserved for anyone other than his elders in his house.

The bastard almost snorted and looked at Viserys with pity. For a moment, the healthy Viserys before them was replaced in his mind by the weak, rotting body Daemon had seen in the television show and imagined in countless stories he had read online.

"Your foolishness stands beside Queen Alysanne, my dear cousin. The things you put poor Aemma through for a male heir, all for a stupid drunken dream, are awful beyond comparison, especially when you already have a dragonlord as your heir," the bastard said, looking at his younger namesake.

"How do you know about that dream?" Viserys asked fearfully. "I have not told anyone else."

"Did you think I lied to Grandfather when I told him I saw the future? I told him of our history thirty years from now. I never spoke to him about what happens to all of you, only what the next generation would cause. I want to watch what happens to you all with this change. This meeting has altered the course of things irrevocably. I want to see the ripples it will cause."

"So, you want to play god with our lives for your sick amusement, brother? Is that it? You knew my father would die, and you let him. And don’t bother speaking of your supposed warning to him. You ignored Prince Baelon’s death before his time. You could have easily come to heal him if you had wanted to," Rhaenys said scornfully.

Daemon laughed. "Brother? That is the first time you have called me that or initiated a conversation with me at all. It seems the only value you see in me is my power. I don’t see you as family either. You all ignored me for stupid reasons and worthless pride. Pride only because you were born into House Targaryen and did nothing with it.

I have done many things. I improved the North, made it self-sustaining, revitalized trade. I saved the Night’s Watch from the utter stupidity of giving them the New Gift—a move made by that stupid faithless Barth to weaken the North. A move my foolish grandmother fell for. I helped remove Bennard and returned Winterfell to the rightful hands of Cregan Stark. Rhaenys I have done more for your so-called kingdom than the entire royal family.

So no, I have no need to save you. I have no reason to be loyal to or help you. Even then, I did help you, by revealing the treasonous plots to the king. He may have glossed over the part about threats to your very lives when he retold the story. Even this meeting and the unveiling of magic happened only because of me. Had I simply left with Gael and not bothered to speak to the king, none of this would have happened."

"What treasonous plots?" Viserys asked in bewilderment.

"It’s true," the king replied. "It seems that even when I chose to hide our true power, our enemies could not tolerate our blood or our dragons. Their hatred knows no end. By the next generation, they would have crippled our dragons. I am sorry that the house I sacrificed so much for would have fallen because of my foolish decision. When I used the Faith and the maesters, I did not know they were also using me. Their hatred for magic and our house runs deeper than I ever imagined. My grandson has informed me that many deaths in our family may not have been coincidences or accidents. I sent my son and daughter to infiltrate the Citadel and the Faith, but they were too blind and fools to see the truth."

"You can’t blame them, Grandfather," Daemon Snow said. "Vaegon was deliberately kept away from anti-magic meetings. Maegelle unfortunately died from greyscale, and even I couldn’t see whether it was intentional or not. But the fact that no one else died from her exposure is too suspicious."

"Killed? Who else was killed by treachery? Who dared to kill the blood of the dragon?" the rogue prince yelled in fury, gripping his sword.

"Your father and your uncle, for sure. You all know what happened to your uncle Aemon. What you don’t know is that I was the reason the Conningtons sent the confession letter. After seeing Aemon dying in a dream, my lyanna was heartbroken and I guessed I did owe Aemon one favor as he did defend my mother against the conningtons all those years ago.  So I entered their castle slaughtered through it until I made the lords write confessions and then ended them root and stem. Then I sent a letter with my eagle to the King, so he could have prior knowledge and deal with it as he pleases. Before all this I investigated how an idiot like Connington came up with the idea to kill Aemon by disguising themselves as Myrish men. They confessed it was the maester who gave them the suggestion. Baelon may have been poisoned with something that mimicked a burst belly. I don’t know who did it.

I can’t confirm anything about the children lost at birth—both the king’s and yours, Viserys. I don’t know how many were lost to cost of the curse or how many more died because of your stupidity in bedding an eleven-year-old frail girl, when every source told you that childbirth at that age is dangerous. I don’t know how many children from other families were lost because of their magical blood, due to the maesters’ biases."

Rhaenys and Viserys were grief-stricken hearing of their father's death and how it might have been avoided. They looked at the king for confirmation, and the old king nodded in sadness. Their grief slowly began to twist into rage, just like the rogue prince’s.

"Your Grace," the rogue prince said with malice, "it seems Maegor should have burned Oldtown after all. The head council of both the Faith and the Citadel deserves it. No matter. I will do it right after this meeting."

"You will do no such thing, Daemon Targaryen," the king ordered firmly. "This requires intricate planning and execution. I will begin it, and my heir Viserys will carry it out. You will be his Hand, Daemon—the Hand that kills our enemies. Dark Sister was always meant for the defender of House Targaryen, while the king remains kind and approachable."

"Don’t I get a choice in who serves as my Hand and sits on my council, Your Grace?" Viserys asked, frowning. "I was planning to use your own council to help me rule for the foreseeable future."

"Do you really want a Hightower as your Hand while you are investigating the two institutions that are enshrined in Lord Hightower’s capital? I don’t think they are exactly unaware of what goes on in their lands, Viserys. I can’t remove Otto now without a strong reason, not after just confirming his position despite the blunder of my daughter’s supposed kidnapping. But you can change it once you succeed me," the king said, trying to stay calm despite the foolish question.

"You don’t want me as your Hand, Viserys?" the rogue prince asked suddenly, his voice filled with rage and sadness.

"You are really not a diplomatic man, brother. I thought Otto was doing an excellent job and didn’t want to dismiss Grandfather’s council when I take the throne," Viserys replied with a smile, as if that explained everything.

The bastard laughed hard at Viserys’s reply. "I told you, Grandfather. It was his stupidity that led to the downfall of your house. The greatest fool king there ever was."

"Enough, Daemon," the king snapped at his bastard grandson. "I will teach him how to be a Targaryen king. It seems my dear Baelon lost a few of his brain cells and failed in educating his sons after Alyssa’s death. One became a weak people-pleaser, and the other an impulsive arrogant dragonlord. Extremes of any kind are poison. A ruler must be balanced."

Viserys's face twisted through many emotions. He was furious at being called a fool by a bastard in front of everyone, but what could he say when his own grandfather agreed? Daemon was seething with anger. His fist clenched around the hilt of Dark Sister. He wanted to strike something. This meeting was making him feel emotions that had no place in a dragonlord’s heart—fear, sadness, and frustration.

"Enough of these speculations without a shred of proof except the words of a bastard. Decide later. Husband, what do you intend to do about my daughter? How will you punish the bastard for stealing a dragon, three dragon eggs, and your sword Blackfyre?" the Queen asked from her chair at last.

Everyone turned to look at the queen, who seemed to have just returned from the brink of death. Every bit of energy she had at the start of the meeting was gone, and only the sheer hatred she felt for the bastard allowed her to speak. She was aware enough of herself to know that her hatred for Daemon Snow had increased dramatically because she could never bring herself to hate her beloved husband for what he had done.  Her bastard grandson had become the perfect outlet for everything that had happened over the past week.

 Everyone looked very interested to hear the king’s response. They all knew how cruel and cunning the king could be when needed and wondered if he had any hidden tricks to actually punish the bastard grandson, who was probably the most powerful man in the world.

"Yes, Grandfather, I want to hear what punishment you have for me?" Daemon Snow asked mockingly, knowing that the king didn’t have the power to do anything to him.

The king looked defeated, and he glanced at Alysanne with a hint of anger.

 Then the king sighed and said, "There is no punishment, because I couldn’t enforce it. More than that, even if I could, it would damage House Targaryen’s image, and I will not allow that. This turn of events requires a version of events similar to my own ascension. Let the realm and the Faith be fooled again, just as Maegor and I fooled them fifty years ago.

The reason you tamed the untamable Cannibal is because I gave you a quest to legitimize you as a prince of House Targaryen. I gave you that quest knowing Cannibal is vicious and assuming you were not foolish enough to accept it—but you did the impossible. During your stay at Dragonstone, you and Gael fell in love and married under the Old Gods and Valyrian gods, just as Alysanne and I did. Since you completed the quest, you are to be legitimized as Prince Daemon Targaryen, son of Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen and Lyarra Snow. You will be eligible for the throne only after Viserys and his heirs, but before Rhaenys Velaryon and hers."

Corlys and Rhaenys snarled at that. The king looked at them and continued, "Yes, Corlys, I hate my mother and uncle Velaryon so much that I will place my disrespectful and disloyal bastard grandson above you and yours.

"The official story of how he got Blackfyre is this—when he visited me in my chambers, due to my old age and failing body, I mistook him for my heir Aemon and passed on the sword. Another version will claim he stole it and fled. Now, I know you are going to travel, and the reason will be exile due to these events. This will preserve the image of our house, while there are two heirs out of Westeros in case something happens to us through treachery."

Everyone was digesting the story, impressed by the masterful manipulation of events to make House Targaryen stronger and more secure, even when it was teetering on the edge of disaster.

Daemon Snow, for all his arrogance, looked at the old king with grudging respect. He could understand the cold-hearted ruthlessness needed to defeat enemies and maintain power. More than that, he respected the immense will it took to accept defeat, especially after ruling as an all-powerful king for decades. Daemon also respected the sacrifices the king had made.

He withdrew Blackfyre from its sheath and pressed the tip to the floor with a clang. The sound startled everyone.

Daemon bowed his head, his hands resting on the hilt of Blackfyre, pressed to the ground.

"Your Grace, I can see the sacrifices you have made for the house. By informing me about this history, and the possible magics of this world, you may have inadvertently saved my life. I genuinely thought that magic was limited, and that no threat would come for me in this world until the Long Night in 300 AC.   For this, I vow that I will not usurp your chosen heir or his heirs. I will not harm them unless they harm me or mine. I will even sit the throne—a throne I do not truly desire—in the event of the death of Viserys's line, so that you may rest knowing no Velaryon will ever sit it." Daemon finished and sheathed Blackfyre.

Everyone was shocked by the arrogant bastard’s uncharacteristic declaration. King Jaehaerys's eyes widened in surprise for a heartbeat, and he wondered why his arrogant grandson would do this now. He went over the vow Daemon had just uttered, and then Jaehaerys finally understood. The old king snorted loudly, and before he could stop himself, he started laughing like there is no tomorrow.

Everyone looked uncomfortable at the sudden, mad laughter. Daemon Snow asked with a touch of mockery, "I thought my vow was heartfelt and grateful enough. Why are you laughing, Your Grace?"

"Nothing, grandson. Just a private joke I remembered," the old king replied.

Rhaenys scoffed. "Is that it? The great punishment of the fearsome king toward his bastard grandson? The king who punished his own daughters so harshly is now rewarding this bastard? Maybe it’s because you see yourself in him—a bastard to another bastard."

Everyone but Daemon Snow gasped at the insult, but Rhaenys continued.

"I am Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Lady of Driftmark and the largest navy of this kingdom, Rider of Meleys, firstborn legitimate daughter of Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen, your firstborn son. Do you truly believe I would accept this after you insulted me and mine? After you yourself declared that our ancient traditions put me before Viserys in the line of succession?  I could reveal the truth of this bastard and this entire situation—unless you betroth my children to Viserys's line. You should make this arrangement, Grandfather. That will be your punishment for all the slights against me and mine. You should die knowing that a Velaryon will sit the Iron Throne by your own decree. Only then will my pride be appeased."

Corlys looked at Rhaenys with pride.

Daemon Snow pitied his sister and almost warned her what foolishness this was, but stopped after seeing the smug smirk on her face. He had been observing everyone in the room with his pseudo-empathic sense, analyzing their true emotions. When Rhaenys made that threat, Daemon could feel the king’s tightly woven control over his madness and rage start to unravel.

The king had been suppressing his fury at Daemon Snow all this time, knowing that fighting him would be an assured defeat. Daemon had chosen his words carefully, walking a fine line so as not to push things beyond the point of no return, where he would end up as a kin-slayer.

Maybe it was the sheer idiocy of threatening the king without any personal power to back it up or maybe the king had simply been looking for an outlet. Daemon wasn’t sure. But as he observed the king, he understood one thing:

Jaehaerys the Conciliator had finally lost it and whatever will happen now is worthy for a son of Maegor the Cruel.  

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Authors note :   yeah decided to split the chapter as wordcount became near 10k.   also got the perfect ending with a cliffhanger…     how is the targ family meeting. Enjoying the drama and heartbreak.  

Anyone guessed the kings solution for loosing his daughter, sword and a dragon all the while securing their image and power….

Any guesses what would happen in next chapter.

See you all in Chapter 41: The Bastard King-II

ADS 39

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 39: Blood, Brotherhood & Betrayal.

Daemon Targaryen was not having a good week. It had started well enough with his brother being declared heir to the Seven Kingdoms and named the next king. But before he could properly celebrate—or even taunt Rhaenys and Corlys—the king had already sent both parties away on their dragons, to the Vale and Driftmark respectively.

The fact that the king sent him, the Rogue Prince, to his wife’s home to have a child immediately rankled him even more. Daemon satisfied his rage by killing some wildlings in the Vale, drinking, and whoring. There was not a single day he didn’t end the night deep in his cups and in some lady’s bed.

But that day unlike before  he was asleep in the keep and his own bed, and was awakened early, he nearly killed the maester who came to rouse him at a godforsaken hour.   Only the fear of the reprimand from his king stopped his hand.

Daemon’s head pounded under the harsh sunlight pouring in through the windows after someone removed the curtains. He blinked rapidly to adjust to the light, unsurprised to see the smirking bronze bitch.

“What the fuck do you want, my bronze bitch?” he growled.

“It seems my nameday present has come early. You’ve been tasked with some errands I am unaware of. Here’s the letter,” Rhea said, throwing a sealed parchment at him. Even Daemon couldn’t miss the king’s seal.

Cursing the gods, he opened it and read.

“Fucking bullshit,” Daemon snarled as he rose. He tossed the letter into the nearby fireplace, where flames eagerly devoured it.

The eerie, whistling howl of Caraxes echoed through the castle as Daemon dressed.

“Wench, arrange food and some drink for me now—and to take with me,” he snapped.

“Where are you going?” Rhea asked.

“None of your business, my bronze bitch,” Daemon muttered.

=================================

Daemon cursed the old king as he suffered the cold of the North. He thought he would never return to this wasteland, and even he was surprised by how soon he had been forced to come back after his last visit. It angered him that the king was using him like a glorified pack mule. He was to carry Viserra to Dragonstone if she was fit to fly for a family meeting. After that, he was to head to Oldtown and drag Uncle Vaegon back to Dragonstone after finding him on the road.

==================

Daemon again cursed everyone he could as he walked towards the place caraxes rested His aunt had been too tired to fly with him, and his entire journey had proven pointless.  He didn’t want to waste any time and he was going to fly back to the south.  He was so irritated that he decided not to even inform anyone he was flying back to the south.

Let them wait and wonder, Daemon thought with a smirk.

He scratched Caraxes and gave the signal to prepare for flight when a familiar voice interrupted.

“Going back so soon, Prince Daemon?”

Daemon groaned in irritation at the sound of Lyanna Mormont.

He didn’t even turn around before answering. “None of your business. I have better things to do than indulge your curiosity.”

“Well then, I’m coming with you. I’ve never been to the South, and it seems like a good time to find my father and kill him—for not inviting me to his wedding, or even informing me of it. Maybe you should join me. You have cause, too. You missed your aunt’s wedding after all. With Valyrian steel and Caraxes backing us, maybe,  we could make the bastard suffer considerably,” Lyanna said with a growl.

Daemon usually ignored meaningless prattle from women, but even he registered two things Lyanna had just said: the bastard had married.  He wondered who in the seven hells would marry a bastard. Some peasant? A whore?   

Even before finishing that thought, he turned around and snapped in rage as his mind processed the fact that the bastard kidnapped Gael and married her, a true valyrian princess while he was denied her hand. 

“What?”

Only the Valyrian steel aimed at his throat stopped him from grabbing Lyanna by the neck and choking her. He almost ordered Caraxes to burn her alive, but took several deep breaths to calm himself. Afterall he needed the information.

How did you know? Even I am unaware of what happened to Gael as of now.

Lyanna smirked. “It’s hard to have spies near my uncle Cregan, Aethan, or my father. But my father has many blind spots. You see, he entrusted baby me to Fenrir, and Fenrir loves me so much that he allows me to warg into him sometimes. But even I was surprised when it seems that Fenrir cared enough for me that he warged to me so that I was able to watch my father’s wedding.  It’s the only way I can keep track of him—when Fenrir is nearby. He uses Fenrir to watch over me too. They were married on the Isle of Faces. Uncle Aethan officiated the ceremony. Now, I must find my father and kill him for ignoring me.”

Daemon remained silent as he processed the implications of such long-distance spying—and its usefulness. But his thoughts didn’t linger there for long. The anger returned. He wondered how the old king had discovered this and why he had called a family meeting now.

He stared at Lyanna and finally said, “Fine. You can come with me. At least you’ll be useful in finding the bastard.”

====================

Daemon Snow

Even I sighed in tiredness as I cuddled with Gael in the best quarters on the ship. As always, gold was king, and I had paid the Essosi merchant enough to be given the best treatment possible. For the last three days, it had felt like a honeymoon at sea, and we had made love often. Even I was exhausted from the constant sex, and Gael was completely out of it.

I was so completely engrossed in my activity that I didn’t even keep an eye on any of my warg animals except for Fenrir and Morghul. Morghul was slowly floating and flying behind our ship with enough distance that no one could see him, while hunting any big fishes he could find. He even made a game of it—how much underwater he could dive before he had to come up for air. I even heard some of Morghul’s thoughts of how he was the king of the skies and land, and now finally he would conquer the waters too.

I allowed it, as it was not the west side of my continent, and maybe training now for underwater is good, as I remembered the unsettling presence I felt when I was in the Sunset Sea.

Maybe it was because of how tired I was after the ritual, and how much Morghul drew from me, or even how much I was tired after three days of sex, I fell deep asleep as I cuddled to Gael.

It was to a poisoned sword to my own throat and Gael’s throat that I awoke to, as my mind was awakened by Morghul using his fire and both Fenrir and Morghul sending enough energy through our bond to work through whatever sleeping agent or poison we must have been consuming for the last three days.

“Didn’t expect that, didn’t you, monster? The Mad King will suffer the same pain we felt when your head and the pretty head of his youngest daughter will be sent to him,” the Essosi said with a smirk. My hands were not even tied, and I could easily kill the attackers and be done with it, but I was curious how a no-name merchant like this found me through our disguise.

For a brief moment, I contacted Morghul and I got that the ship was docking into one of the smaller islands in the Stepstones and there were ten pirate ships.

“How did you find out?” I asked calmly and still lying on my cot, not moving.

Maybe my presence leaked from my iron control or something, all three stiffened for a moment. I had already felt Gael waking up and playing possum, so I was not even worried about her being beheaded. Even before the ritual with consuming my blood and even semen, for the last several years, Gael is fast enough to dodge a clumsy pirate, especially when he was more concentrated on me. 

"You dare to ask questions when you are at my mercy. You are that mad king's grandson enough. It was just like the Lorathi said, the grandson is of the same mould as the mad king. I couldn’t believe my ears when he revealed the truth to me about who my wealthy passengers are, but hearing you call the names made me see through your disguises, well at least of the princess. And now you can watch as entire ships of pirates have their way with your lovely bride, and then you both will be auctioned to the Triarchy."

I almost lost my control and killed him then and there, for threatening Gael, but I somehow managed to control myself. The man who identified me is yet to be seen, and I was still curious.

"Lorathi? I have never seen one of those in my life," I said with a shrug, which made the sword actually touch my skin with enough force to make any normal man bleed. The pirate's eyes widened slightly, seeing no purchase, and he ignored it with a shake of his head.

"Well then, let’s get this over with," I said as I raised my hand as if I were surrendering.

======================

I sat upon the glassed lands of the small island near the torso of the Lorathi—surprisingly, a faceless man. It was almost the end of the night, and the glassed beach reflected the fires of the eleven burning ships and even all the people, small buildings, and structures on the island.

Morghul had been furious and went overboard a little bit. As I killed the Essosi and pirates who infiltrated my room, Morghul attacked the ten ships. I then went with Blackfyre in my hand to clean the ship.

It was when both Gael and I landed on the island that the Lorathi attacked out of nowhere. Even with my enhanced senses, I didn’t pick him up from all the smoke and chaos around us. I thought it was some nobody, and I started the fight half-heartedly, which I immediately regretted as I was pierced twice by the speed and sheer skill. The fighting was an amalgamation of multiple disciplines enhanced by speed.

I decided to increase my own speed and slightly stumbled as the poison began to work through my system. It said much about how dangerous it was that it took five minutes for my body to work through it while I was fighting, with Fenrir constantly supplying me energy to fight through the weakness. I was curious who the Lorathi was; I hadn’t recognized him as a faceless man yet. Only a slight nudge from Morghul as he passed over me, breathing fire and eating many pirates, triggered a word in my mind:

Faceless man.

The fight went on for ten minutes, and the end result was before me.

The faceless man was still alive but lacking both arms and legs.

"So why does a faceless man want to kill me?" I asked with a frown. "I have excellent relations with Braavos, and yet here you are."

"The Many-Faced God wants your face, and he will have it," the faceless man replied, not a hint of pain in his voice.

Morghul landed behind me and looked upon the Lorathi.

"Daemon, use your sight," Morghul said.

I almost slapped myself for not using my magic sight, as it is painful to use constantly. I activated it, and I could see the magic all over the faceless man, especially concentrating on the head. I almost closed my sight when Morghul said,

"More power, Daemon. You will want to see this."

I increased it and was immediately shocked to see a gray sludge-like connection from the faceless man flying off to somewhere very distant.

I understood it immediately, as it was similar to my own bond with Gael, Morghul, and Fenrir—the only difference being mine is golden, and this one looked like bad news.

I remained silent, not wanting the faceless man to know I had understood their secret.

"Gael," I called as I extended Blackfyre to her. "It is time. You must take your first life now so that you will not hesitate in the future during fights."

“Are you sure Daemon that I must do this?” Gael asked with a frown.

“Yes, my love. It is essential to get over it in safe conditions than in a fight for your life.  Also, not many can say they killed a faceless man, let alone it being their first.” I said with a smirk. 

Gael looked queasy, but with a fake brave smile, she collected Blackfyre from me and looked upon the emotionless eyes of the faceless man before stabbing him in the heart.

==========================

Dragonstone, the Seat of the Heir to the Seven Kingdoms.

The island sits in Blackwater Bay, off the southeastern coast of Westeros. Though relatively small, it is famed for its jagged cliffs and dark, dragon-shaped stone formations that rise ominously from the sea. The castle, built from the same dark stone, carries a foreboding presence. Its architecture is both defensive and functional—strong walls, high towers, and looming battlements.

In a dark chamber beneath the castle proper, near the sea line, King Jaehaerys was holding a meeting. The grand hall above, adorned with Targaryen motifs, gold accents, and an array of weapons, concealed this hidden room. Constructed originally by the First Men and later enhanced by the Valyrians with the mysterious black dragonstone, the chamber was unknown to all present—except the King. Everyone except the king looked around in wonder and curiosity.

"Your Grace, what is this place? Why am I seeing this for the first time?" asked Archmaester Vaegon. "There is no mention of this chamber in the Citadel or in the education you provided me."

"Yes, King Jaehaerys, please enlighten us all. Even I know nothing of this. And why have you summoned the entire family here?" Queen Alysanne snapped.

Prince Daemon, Viserys, Aegon, Rhaenys, Vaegon, Aemma, and Corlys Velaryon were stunned seeing that even the famously united royal couple seemed to hold secrets from each other.

"Yes, tell us your grace, why it was necessary for me to act as a mule." Daemon recovered quickly from the surprise and snapped at his frail grandfather. Daemon wondered how his grandfather would reply.  Daemon had landed at Dragonstone with Lyanna and Vaegon. The king had summoned his great-granddaughter for a private meeting—Daemon knew that meant the King had learned the truth. Even Rhaenys had unknowingly served as a mule, transporting the Queen and Viserys, while the King flew with Aemma and Aegon.

Then Daemon’s eyes widened as he noticed one other fact.  He looked at both his grandparents and he couldn’t see the tiredness and the weariness of old age. They both looked more energetic and not like they were near at death’s door, especially his grandmother.   A chill ran down his spine as he remembered a conversation in Winterfell.

“Boy, we’re having this conversation in Winterfell because of Daemon Snow. Your father came to me, begging for a way to save your younger brother. He offered anything. In return, I asked for a royal marriage.”

“Don’t think Daemon won’t do it again. He’ll bargain with other lords too. Everyone will beg for his healing, and he can prove it, right in front of them.”  

Is the King compromised? Daemon thought. He had always known the Queen was the King's greatest love, and now she looked better than she had in years.

Daemon’s thoughts broke as King Jaehaerys sighed loudly; the king’s face briefly showed an image of absolute tiredness before taking on a visage never seen by the rest of the members, not even by his beloved sister-wife. It was the face of a man finally glad to be rid of the ‘wise king’ mask he had worn his entire adult life, displaying the weariness of untold burdens carried, along with a touch of madness that every great man possessed and would continue to possess.

"Daemon, you ungrateful fool of a child," the King snapped. "The next time you snap at me today will be the last time you speak in your life. When I order something, you will obey. If I order you to burn the filth in Flea Bottom with Caraxes, you will obey. If I tell you to shave my beard using Dark Sister, you will do it without drawing a drop of blood. If I ask you to fly someone to me from the other side of the world, you will do it. Everything in your life has been my generosity and my gift to you — your name, your dragon, your sword, and your life. You shall show me the respect and fear that is owed to me. No one here should speak unless I specifically ask them to. Today, it is for me to speak and decide while you all obey," the King finished calmly with a smile, and that caused a chill down the spines of even the Rogue Prince.

Everyone, including the Queen, was flabbergasted by the surety and calmness with which the threat was uttered. They had seen the King in many moods, but this was something extraordinary, and even the ever-prideful Daemon was frightened for the first time in his life, despite the fact that the old King should not have the strength to remove his tongue personally, and all the Kingsguard were in the castle proper.

Viserys, frightened, began to reach out to stop the rant Daemon was about to spew but was surprised to see Daemon nodding slowly with a frightened expression.

"Well, wonders will never cease, my grandson. It seems that the only way to make you obey was this. We should have done this ages ago," the Queen replied mirthfully.

The King ignored his wife’s barb for the moment.

"I gathered you all here to inform you of the latest tidings of House Targaryen and many secrets. Some time ago at night, my chamber was visited by my first grandson, Daemon Snow, with no one being the wiser. He told me that he climbed the cliffs to the Red Keep, an impossible task in daylight for a normal person, which I thought was a lie, but later I was forced to believe because of the things discussed."

Everyone’s face showed disbelief, but no one dared to speak or ask questions. The King continued, "My grandson chose to thank me for allowing him to grow his powers without any disturbance in the North, and he was here for his birthright. He told me that he had come South to tame a dragon and marry a dragon, which he had already done. He told me that he tamed the Cannibal and married, in the Valyrian and First Men way, my youngest daughter, Princess Gael."

"What?!" the Queen exclaimed. "You lost my Gael to him? Gael married to a bastard and you allowed the bastard to escape? Where is my daughter, brother?"

"No! Impossible! Cannibal cannot be tamed!" Daemon exclaimed.

The King was expecting the interruption. "Oh, shut up, both of you. We are not here to discuss the antics of my grandson," the King said with a wave of his hand, an almost proud gleam in his eyes.

"What? You are proud of the half-breed bastard? Why did you allow this travesty against our pure Valyrian blood? First, you deny me Gael’s hand in marriage and then sold me that bronze bitch in her place. Now you take his healing potion in exchange for Gael and a dragon? This is fucking ridiculous," Daemon said angrily.

"Daemon, I will forgive this outburst as I am at fault for your misconceptions regarding Valyrian blood and power. It was I who decided to hide our magic from all members of the family except those with talent in the arcane, to conform to our subjects' beliefs. It was I who decided to bury the history of fire and blood in this chamber. It was I who chose to never teach my sons, my heirs, the magic and history of Great Valyria that I learned right here in this very chamber at the knees of King Maegor Targaryen, the cruel rider of Balerion the Black Dread," the King said in a wistful voice, his eyes unfocused, seeing the past.

An eerie chill descended the spines of everyone who heard the King speak of Maegor without hatred for the first time in their lives. None of them ever thought they would hear the old King speak kindly of the uncle he was said to hate with a legendary passion.

"Let me tell you what happened during Daemon’s visit and the matters we discussed, before I speak of ancient history," the King interrupted everyone who was about to protest.

After the retelling, silence. Absolute silence descended upon hearing the powers of Daemon Snow—their bastard grandson, brother, and cousin. They could not disbelieve the tale, as the proof was the King himself and even the Queen, who now stood far more lively than what should be possible.

"But he is a half-breed with a wildling from the North. How does he have this power when we do not? Grandfather, tell us how," surprisingly it was Aegon who asked, not Daemon.

Even Rhaenys nodded at the question while everyone took time to process the news.

“Yes, please reveal that too, your grace.”

The King took a drink from his pitcher and looked at his granddaughter with a sad smile. "Ah, Rhaenys, my dear granddaughter. Valyria is the most powerful empire the world had ever seen. It had Magic like none other. The tales speak of our magic, but it was not only ours. There was a reason the Valyrians never invaded Westeros. The ancient tales of the Children of the Forest, Giants, the Greenseers, and men who walk in animal skins were known to Valyrians even then. The greatest strength of Valyria was dragons, creatures of immense power. Our ancestors knew that starting a fight when the enemy’s strength is unknown is utter folly. That is why they never ventured west. Why start a war with a distant enemy when you can trade if needed?"

"My grandson is the son of a dragon and of a house that ruled half of this continent for eight thousand years—House Stark. A house that, according to legend, married daughters of many magical houses by defeating them and taking their fealty. Their founder is so renowned that even after eight thousand years, his name and works still endure. Brandon the Builder. The Wall, Winterfell, Storm's End, and even the base of the Hightower—though weakened—all have magical protections I detected when I visited. It seems that the mixing of two of the most powerful bloodlines has produced exceptional results."

Everyone looked at the King as if seeing him for the first time. Even Alysanne, the lifelong companion of the King, had not known that Jaehaerys practiced sorcery.

"Why?" came the barely restrained, rage-filled voice of Daemon. "Why did you do it? Earlier, you said everything I have was your gift—my dragon, my name, my sword. Then why? Why did you deny us the greatest gift of them all? Magic.”

The old King looked at the members of his family with sad eyes, and saw Corlys trying to almost vanish by not even blinking. 

 The King smirked and said, "Why do you ask? It is a long tale. The true story behind the whitewashed lies of the sons of the Conqueror. I will tell you. But before that, Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, why are you silent? No snide comments about lost thrones? No talk of betrayal of the laws of succession laid down by gods and men? You have not spoken a word because you know today is different. Do you not? You are wise enough to know you will lose your tongue if you disobey my first command today. You may speak now."

Everyone was stunned. They had forgotten the ever-prideful Sea Snake was even present.

"Yes, Your Grace. I knew you would follow through. I can see it in your eyes. That order was especially for me," Corlys said calmly in a respectful voice.

The old King laughed and said, "Yes, as usual, the Velaryons have always been good at saving their lives."

"Your Grace?" Corlys asked hesitantly.

The King ignored the question and looked around the room. He could see that his family still stood divided, invisible lines drawn. He looked at Rhaenys and saw the hidden disdain in her eyes. Even now, with a rogue dragonrider bonded to one of the most dangerous dragons and wielding otherworldly powers beyond their control, his family could not see beyond their egos and petty grievances. Jaehaerys looked at Viserys who atleast remained calm and listened intently unlike Rhaenys who is still trying to kill him with staring if possible.   

‘Why the fuck did I sacrifice so much for the end results to be this. I should atleast try one more time to salvage what I can.’ The king decided as he looked at his granddaughter and his own heir Viserys.   

"Rhaenys, my child, tell me, why do you think I displaced you as my heir?" the King asked.

"I think it was because I am a woman, and the lords would never accept it. They may rebel after my ascension. Even though you gave power to your Queen, the years spent with a septon made you see women as weak. The other reason is Corlys and his rise," Rhaenys answered, glancing at her husband.

"Oh, you sweet summer child," the King said mockingly. "That is absolute nonsense. You being a woman was never the reason. Nor was it because you married Corlys. You lost your place as my heir when you chose to marry a Velaryon. It does not matter if you had married Corlys, his brother, his father, or even my uncle Daemon when he was alive. The house was the problem, not an upjumped sailor who thinks himself equal to a Dragonlord in his foolish pride."

Everyone was stunned by the sheer rage in Jaehaerys’s voice at the end.

"Corlys, tell me the truth. Do you think I was jealous of your rise? Envious of your success? Your wealth? Speak truthfully; there will be no consequence," the King asked after taking a deep breath to calm himself.

Corlys looked uneasy but answered truthfully, "Yes, Your Grace."

King Jaehaerys snorted and began to laugh slowly. The laughter stretched on, and everyone else looked at him as if they were witnessing a madman.

After a few minutes, the laughter subsided, though mirth remained in his voice as he said mockingly, "Corlys, my kinsman, you have nothing I value. Whatever you built in your life, I could destroy it in a single afternoon, and all it would take is a single word:

“Dracarys.”

the King finished menacingly, and a terrifying growl rumbled from the darkness that was the end of the opposite side of the great hall from where they entered the castle.

Everyone stiffened at the sound of the Bronze Fury and were stunned to see his head emerging from the shadows.

"Ah, you see, the entrance from the seaside, hidden in the mountains," the King said.

"Lykiri, Vermithor," the King called softly to his dragon.

"Let me continue. You are nothing compared to House Targaryen, Corlys. It was never about you. When I heard your claims in court—that you were the second most powerful house—it always made me laugh. A couple of ships, some liquid gold, and a small city and island do not make you equal to a Dragonlord. If there is a second house in this forsaken kingdom, it is House Stark. Magical and enduring longer than both of our lines. Anyway, Corlys, I did not hate you for your success or wealth. I hated you because you carry the same ambition and greed in your eyes as my damned mother, Alysa Velaryon, and my uncle Daemon Velaryon," the old King finished, his voice filled with more hatred than anyone present had ever heard, even when he spoke of Maegor.

"Jaehaerys!" the Queen shouted. "What is this? That is our mother. She is..."

"Oh, stop it, Alysanne. I am sorry. I never told you the truth. I wanted to protect you, my dear. Everyone believes I hate my uncle Maegor most for killing my brothers and usurping the Iron Throne, but the truth is that hatred died with him. Since that day, there has only been sadness, pity, and respect," the King said.

Everyone was stunned. It was as if the sun had risen in the west and set in the east. No one could speak until Daemon finally broke the silence.

"You know the reason Maegor spared your life and did not make Storm's End a new Harrenhal. The maesters say he knew he would be defeated because you had three dragons on your side. But at that time, Vermithor, Silverwing, and Dreamfyre were nothing compared to the Black Dread."

 King Jaehaerys smiled proudly at Daemon and answered.

"Yes, my child. You are sharp and quick to understand. Whatever your shortcomings, at least you are a true Dragonlord, Daemon. In the past fifty years, no one has asked me this question—not other dragonriders, not even those who rode the Black Dread himself."

Daemon's heart burst with joy at the proud smile from the old King, while Viserys was suddenly filled with shame, realizing he was the last rider of Balerion and had never even considered such thoughts.

"The reason I harbor resentment towards my mother is that she was responsible for the deaths of my elder brothers, including King Aenys, to some extent. As you all know, King Aenys was the firstborn son of the Conqueror, but Maegor took precedence in primogeniture. Maegor was the son of the firstborn daughter, Queen Visenya, and the second-born, King Aegon. Queen Rhaenys, the third daughter, was the mother of Aenys. For centuries, our house followed primogeniture, which is why Dragonstone belonged to Queen Visenya, and Maegor became the Prince of Dragonstone. However, my Velaryon family conspired with the Faith and Andal lords, and they wanted Aenys as heir, following the accursed Andal custom of favoring the firstborn son of the male line. My grandfather Aegon, in his love for Rhaenys and in his grief over her death, agreed to it. Visenya was furious, and to avoid bloodshed, they made an agreement: Aenys would become King, but after him, it would be Maegor and his line. This arrangement was well known within the family. Maegor was supposed to marry my elder sister so that the lines would be united at last.

It was during this time that I was fostered under Maegor and Visenya. They educated me in ancient valyrian history, sorcery, and other valuable subjects. Aenys, being the weak man he was, showed no talent and had declined in his youth. However, after becoming King, Aenys succumbed to pressure from my mother's will to marry Aegon and Rhaena, changed the agreement with Visenya, and eventually fell victim to the treachery and rebellion of the Faith. You all know the rest. Maegor was crowned King by Visenya and fought the rebellion of the Faith when my fool of a brother rose in rebellion because of my scheming mother and uncle, who aspired for power.

Viserys was left speechless as he understood the depth of it. As the current heir and by ancient custom, the position rightfully belonged to Rhaenys.

Vaegon looked at his niece with pity and said, "I am sorry. You were never going to win, even if all the lords voted for you, Rhaenys."

Rhaenys turned sharply to the King, her expression angry.

"I am sorry, Rhaenys. You lost my heirship when you married the damned Velaryons. I would never allow them near my throne while I breathe. I did not object to Aemon allowing you to marry Corlys or even remain his heir, only because I thought the possibility of you becoming first in line for the throne would happen far in the future, when I would be long dead and no longer care."

"Why, Your Grace? Was your mother not doing what every lady does? In this kingdom, the firstborn son is the usual heir. Why do you harbor such hatred for her simply following what has been tradition for millenia?" Corlys asked slowly.

"Normal, you say? At last, the hypocrisy is laid bare. I have heard you boast about the Velaryons being in Valyria even before us Targaryens, proud of being Valyrian in this kingdom and claiming to follow the old ways. And I had heard the same thing long before you were even born. Then hear this, Corlys : in Valyria, there was no concept of elder or younger, only power and those too weak to seek it. Lords were chosen by magical power and the power of the dragon, mainly the heat of fire and the victories the dragon had. Of course, the current lord would make sure his firstborn had all the knowledge and privileges to be the strongest, but it was not unheard of for even bastards to try their luck and claim greater dragons. In that sense, I should make your brother-in-law my heir—my grandson, Daemon Snow. He has proven himself in the old Valyrian way."

"What?" Viserys and Rhaenys shouted in disbelief.

"Yes, he is eligible. Bastardy has no place in the Valyrian way, only power. Even now, he is the strongest as he is bonded with the Cannibal, no Morghul. Even with Vermithor, Caraxes, and Melys, we cannot defeat him, even with Vhagar there is only a chance. His healing power is too unpredictable and we don’t know it’s limit."

"What do you mean? Cannibal is special?" Daemon asked again, stupefied. The King noted the surprising lack of denial or protest from Rhaenys at the suggestion that Snow and Morghul could defeat all three dragons.

"Morghul is special. Dragons are descended from the Fourteen Elder Dragons that we once worshipped as gods. They spoke, had magical powers, blessed us, mingled with us, bred with us, and taught us sorcery. Morghul is one-quarter Elder Dragon, which was very rare even a hundred years before the Doom. Our dragons are only legacies. Only Balerion was also a quarter Elder Dragon and descended from Balerion himself, which made him more powerful. They made a pact when they landed here all those years ago. That is the only reason Cannibal did not kill us all and eat us. Now, he is bonded to a powerful sorcerer—a monster in human skin."

No one knew what to say to that. Every plan Daemon had in his mind to recover Blackfyre and Princess Gael was halted. Alysanne looked as if she had swallowed a lemon, struck silent by the knowledge that had almost changed her entire life. She tried to recall her earliest memories, wondering if there had been talk of a marriage between Maegor and her sister Rhaena, but she could remember nothing.

Viserys was devastated. Until yesterday, he had been the second most powerful man in the kingdom. Only the King and Queen could order him. He had been raised in the Valyrian gods but gave lip service to the Faith. Now, he did not know what to believe. Viserys loved Valyrian history and customs. He had been proud to have won a council like those held in Valyria, even if the voters were far lesser in status than in the Freehold. Now, his sword was stolen by his elder cousin, and unknowingly, his elder cousin’s position had been stolen by him.

"That is not a good thing to say about me, Grandsire." A northern-accented voice echoed from the far end of the hall, where Vermithor was lying. A handsome man, appearing only in his early twenties though he should be far older, walked out from the shadows with a mocking smile on his face. His hair was split into two colors: raven black on one side and pale silver on the other, the same as Prince Aemon’s. His eyes were heterochromatic, filled with bound power—one stark grey and the other Targaryen violet, nearly black. The hilt of Blackfyre was visible at his belt and was recognized by all.

"I am not a monster, and I assure you I am one hundred percent human, with all parts intact. You can ask my dear wife, Princess Gael, if you doubt it," he finished with a lecherous, mocking grin toward Queen Alysanne.

Fury shone on the Queen's face. "You bastard, where is my pure, innocent daughter? What have you done to her?"

"Alysanne," the King immediately warned.

"Nothing she has not asked for, Grandmother. If you know what I mean," Daemon finished with a smirk.

"Daemon, must you be so crass and provoke my wife? Stop it. Remember, you are standing in front of Vermithor, and I do not know how he even let you pass through the entrance."

"Oh, Grandfather, Vermithor is not mad enough to attack me when I smell of fire and blood and Morghul—and more importantly, when he is in front of Morghul, who is resting just outside the entrance."

Vaegon snorted at the exchange.

"So, continue the history lesson. I am very curious. What is the real reason for your hatred of the Velaryons? As Corlys said, this is not enough reason for such deep hatred."

"The reason, you ask?" The King turned toward Corlys and continued. "It was my mother who made Aegon rebel. It was my mother who kidnapped Alysanne and me from Dragonstone when there was no reason to leave, just so she could consort with Rogar Baratheon. Our lives were never in danger. It was that elopement that made Maegor go after my sweet brother Viserys. Viserys almost escaped King's Landing, but it was my uncle Daemon who betrayed his nephew to Maegor for a position at court. The traitor. It was Daemon's men who tortured him. The Kinslayer."

Alysanne looked at her husband in shock. "Jae, what are you saying? Mother saved us from Maegor. He would have killed us."

Jaehaerys looked at his wife with pity. "No, my love. Our lives were not in danger. I made sure of that. How could he have harmed us when I was his heir and you were my future wife? Our union was the only method to ensure the continuation of House Targaryen. Maegor would not have touched us. But Mother and her Baratheon lover ruined everything and never took me seriously. I should have gotten rid of Rogar Baratheon."

"How, Grandsire? How did you make sure you and Alysanne were the only Targaryens capable of bearing children? Maegor was mad with power, and now you say he cared for House Targaryen?" Viserys asked.

The King looked around at the people gathered, all expectantly waiting. He knew there was no other path but to reveal the whole truth, to move forward and secure their future.

The king walked toward the bookshelf and opened a hidden alcove. A letter fell into his hand. He looked at the letter with desperation and lifted his hand to show the broken three-headed dragon seal.

"You were told that my elder sister Rhaena escaped King's Landing and arrived to support me. That is not the truth. No one could escape Maegor's paranoia and vigilance. But seeing the reality of the realm, he let Rhaena leave with a letter written only to me, with explicit instructions. Rhaena was to deliver it secretly and follow my commands, or he would kill Aerea, who was held as hostage. Only the gods, Uncle Maegor, and I knew the contents of this letter. Now you will all know. I am sorry, Alysanne. I hope you will forgive me in the afterlife, for I know you will not forgive me in the rest of my life. But understand this—whatever I did, I did for our survival, for our life, and for House Targaryen."

Everyone was astonished by the heartfelt apology and the stone-cold will that had made such decisions long ago. A king’s burden in the pursuit of greatness.

Vaegon stepped forward to read the letter and said, "It is written in High Valyrian."

"To,

Prince Jaehaerys Targaryan.

Dragonlord.

Prince of Dragonstone

Heir to the Iron Throne.

Jaehaerys,

Son, know that I am proud of you. You were always my favorite among the children. I saw myself and the Conqueror in you the moment you started talking. I saw the future of House Targaryen secured in you.

Know that I taught you everything of sorcery, knowledge of our roots, warfare, and politics. I saw that you have grasped it excellently by the curse you placed on me, the curse to save yourself and your favorite sister from my wrath. The curse that made it so I could never have children again. It was an exquisite move, son. The moment I understood it, you became my heir, as it would take a male to unite this realm as of now. Females would be exploited by the lords and used. I wonder how many of your future children you sacrificed for my curse, after all I tried many, many times, a revenge if you look at it that way, even though my seed was weaker after the resurrection ritual after the trial of the seven.

Know that magical protection of Storm's End would have failed if I cared enough to try. You should have stayed in the North. It would be hard to find you, and Winterfell may have enough magical protection left to let you escape Balerion's wrath or maybe you could have defeated me with whatever knowledge and magical knickknacks the Starks have been hiding for the last eight millennia.

Know that I avenged my brother, my king. I broke the filthy Faith that made it possible to spill the blood of a drake. I left them so broken that whatever conditions you have, they would accept. My only regret is I didn't burn down the Hightower and Oldtown and destroy the power of Faith root and stem, but I couldn't break the promise given to my first wife, Ceryse Hightower. Whatever else I am, I am not an oathbreaker.

 I suggest you break them further and permanently shackle the Faith. Remove their influence; you know the way.

 My parents broke the great houses' fighting spirit and established our house. My brother, weak as he may have been, established the fealty and loyalty of the Great Lords. The Faith tried to establish their hatred for magic and their power over the smallfolk; I have broken that institution.

 I terrified the lords and the people so completely that they will call you the greatest king of our line for centuries. You will conquer the people’s loyalty and heart. They will not trouble you and will follow you for at least many years, fearfully. It will be enough to make the love and fealty for the royal house a part of their very lives. The old generation will die, and House Targaryen will remain supreme.

I killed thousands so that they will forget the old kings and their lines. The only trouble for your line will come in the form of assassination. So I have created a holdfast in the Red Keep, every secret passage designed and made by Valyrian techniques. No one can access it other than you; you know where the plans will be.

Burn the Aegon's knife and read the message. A message passed from the King to the Heir. The story is written in Aegon's diary in the secret hall. Now, on the next moon, you shall declare your rebellion; you will send ravens, and the lords will flock to your banner as you have three dragons, the fools. I shall not make a move. You will march toward King's Landing. As you reach here, I will give you the greatest gift. I will make a final sacrifice in fire and blood for House Targaryen. I will kill myself on the Iron Throne and enact the ritual to gift 50 years of Kings Reign for you. For House Targaryen. Use it well.

Marry your sister Alysanne. Let my brother's line continue with mine as it should be.

If it's not clear till now, Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, you are my blood. You are my son. I made sure of it, even though the bitch drank moon tea. After all you know the ritual, don't you, my son.

Proudly,

Your Father,

Dragonlord Maegor Targaryen the Cruel

Rider of Balerion The Black Dread

King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men

Lord of the Seven Kingdoms

Protector of the Realm

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Authors note:   yeah that happened… something I have not seen in any fics till now.  also something that makes sense why Maegor a mad man would ever allow threats to remain alive…   also I had tried to hint something of this line from the very beginning and in all chapters in kingslanding.. also the reason there was no Jaehaerys pov till now/..  as he would think the truth and I couldn’t just write without ever mentioning this in Jaehaerys pov.

  So what do u think ? surprised?   

   How is the meeting and we have still another 5k words left.    the dragonstone and next chapter has been written a year ago and the daemon targ pov and daemon snow pov in the beginning is the new addition. 

Also a long chapter as I really wanted to end the chapter with this letter no matter what. 

See u in chapter 40 : The Bastard King. 

FD 7

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF  and Marvel characters and all recognizable characters, plots, belong to GRRM and Marvel.  I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 7: A Song of Magic

King’s Landing

5 days later.

Baelon Targaryen welcomed the roar of the crowd as they landed outside King’s Landing. Alongside his father and brother, Baelon had easily and completely decimated the Dornish armada with their dragons—it had felt like hunting rats. At first, he’d felt some queasiness; it was the first time he was using his dragon for war and killing.

But the thrill of the hunt, the bloodlust of Vhagar, bled into him, and the excitement was intoxicating. Baelon wondered what madness had gripped the Dornish to make them attack with wooden ships.

He saw the king being greeted by a King’s-guard knight and several members of the Small Council. The absence of his mother and Alyssa was jarring. Baelon could see that even Aemon and his father were unsettled.

Still, the king and his heir ignored the fact and didn’t ask about the queen. They smiled for the nobles gathered, and soon the victory procession was about to begin.

Baelon looked at his brother and then at the king, who gave them a subtle nod. Grinning, Baelon sent the command to Vhagar.

ROAR.

All three dragons roared at once, soaring above the grounds and King’s Landing. They had taken off after leaving their riders on the ground.

Baelon’s grin widened as the thousands gathered along the path and outside the city walls cheered in awe. But the joy vanished almost instantly. The thunderous cheers and dragon cries were suddenly drowned out by another roar—from deep within King’s Landing.

There was no real danger, but Baelon felt a chill at the sound of the Black Dread’s voice. He forced a smile for the crowd, but it faltered when he saw the alarm flicker in the king’s eyes.

The king turned to the Kingsguard beside him. Baelon watched as the knight leaned forward to whisper in the king’s ear. For the first time, he saw panic on the king’s face. It was quickly replaced by pride, and then a weary acceptance. The man who moments ago looked like a conquering hero now seemed burdened, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

Baelon wondered what news could have shaken the king so deeply.

======================

Baelon didn’t have to wait long to hear the news after reaching the Red keep, which took hours as the procession was slow.  The king immediately summoned Baelon, Aemon, and the Kingsguard to his chambers to explain everything.

Baelon could hardly believe his ears.

The full story of Gaemon’s madness was laid bare. How Gaemon had stolen Blackfyre. How he’d tricked his niece and nephew into creating a distraction. How he had claimed Balerion after using other dragons—and himself—to hunt the cursed fire wyrms hiding inside the Black Dread. How Gaemon had been horribly burned, only to heal rapidly, just like Balerion, who had devoured an entire year’s worth of meat in one sitting. Then there was the threat Gaemon made toward the queen’s dragon, which had enraged everyone.

"Where is he now?" the king asked at last.

"Your Grace," one of the Kingsguard replied, "he is under the care of both the queen and Princess Alyssa in the Dragonpit quarters. The Black Dread did not allow them to move Gaemon, and the chambers of the head dragonkeepers have been taken for his care."

"Who else knows the truth?" the king asked, his voice cold. Both Baelon and Aemon stiffened as they registered the underlying tension and slight panic in the voice of the king.

“By now, rumors had spread throughout King’s Landing about the ‘wild prince’ Gaemon, who was known to spend more time with animals than with people. Whispers said he had finally snapped and attacked something inside the Dragonpit. From there, the stories had grown wild and distorted. No one knew the full truth. Only us, the Kingsguard, the queen, the princess, and two knighted men-at-arms from the Red Keep know that Prince Gaemon attacked Balerion with Blackfyre," one of the knights said. “Fortunately, the queen ordered those knights to stay silent. They are currently guarding the Dragonpit entrance. No one else knows about Gaemon’s otherworldly ability to heal—like Balerion."

The king sat in silence for a moment, lost in thought. Finally, he spoke.

"The truth will not be revealed. I declare it treason to speak of this to anyone else. Let the rumors spread, as they always do and hide the truth."

Then he asked, "The knights who saw the attack and reported to the queen, are they trustworthy enough?"

The Kingsguard considered the question. "They are loyal, Your Grace, but they’re young. If someone is clever enough, they might extract the truth from them."

"Keep them in the Dragonpit for now. They are not to meet anyone except the dragonkeepers until I make a formal announcement regarding Gaemon’s claim of Balerion. Inform them that they must not reveal that Gaemon used Blackfyre."

"Yes, Your Grace," the Kingsguard said with a bow.

"Aemon. Baelon. Come. Let us meet my third son and your mother."

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Dragonpit

Gaemon woke up to the earsplitting roar of his Balerion. He had two default states when waking from unconsciousness. One, he would go on a rampage and kill everyone in whatever prison he was held in. Two, he would fake being unconscious and examine the situation before making a move.

This time, he felt drained and exhausted in a way he had never experienced in his long life. He reached around his body and was relieved to feel that most of his burns had healed. The holes in his body had closed, and even the burns had reduced to first degree. The pain was still intense in his new body, but his mind had already discarded such useless sensations, as always.

He could smell his mother and sister nearby, diligently preparing bandages and cleaning. Gaemon really hoped they had followed his suggestion, the one he gave to almost everyone involved in healing. That they should wash their hands and equipment thoroughly in hot water.

My healing is really weakened, Gaemon thought, as he sent his mind through the new bond he could now feel.

He reached the end of the mental thread and sensed the heat of the great beast lying there.

‘Balerion,’ he called out.

The heat vanished, and the background around Gaemon blurred. The surroundings reshaped themselves into two islands. One was clearly Dragonstone. The other had a manor that looked remarkably like the X-Mansion, surrounded by deep forests.

Gaemon understood at once. The islands represented their minds. He sensed Balerion flying from his own island toward Gaemon’s.

‘Gaemon,’ Balerion hissed. ‘Or Logan. Or Wolverine. What is it now, my bonded? I understood you were an old soul, but your memories—or how much you have not forgotten—truly surprised me.’

Gaemon grimaced, recalling the many gaps in his memory over the centuries.

‘You can call me Gaemon. Logan is the dominant part of me now, but I understand from bonding with you that I have retained parts of the original soul of this body, Gaemon. After all, Logan could never bond with animals, let alone dragons. Let me honor his sacrifice, at least, by taking his name.’

‘I understand more than you realize,’ Balerion replied. ‘Every rider I have had leaves something behind and is influenced in turn. If the rider is exceptionally strong, or the first, the influence is great. Look at the blue dragon. Her rider’s hatred for Maegor and myself has seeped into her so much that she attacked you the moment she sensed a potential bond between us, all those years ago.’

Gaemon simply nodded.

‘How are your wounds? Are they healing?’

‘Yes, Gaemon. They are healing far faster and more cleanly than would have been possible without you. I have been consuming massive amounts of meat to fuel my regeneration.’ Balerion replied.

Gaemon saw Balerion look away, his mind momentarily distant.

‘Be warned, my bonded,’ Balerion hissed at last. ‘Your sire and nestmates are here.’

Gaemon’s eyes widened slightly, then relaxed.

‘So, Father and my brothers are back from their war against the Dornish. Good,’ Gaemon replied. ‘Are you ready if it comes to a fight?’

Balerion snorted.

‘Do not worry, my bonded. There will be no fighting. Your sire may seem ignorant of the dragons’ suffering and chains, but it was my will that made the others accept them. I took them on willingly, all those years ago, as punishment for the fate of my sweet Aerea. Your sire only used the situation to his advantage—and that of your family. Now that I am free of the chains, the others will be freed as well.’

Gaemon looked surprised. He had never considered why the dragons had not simply broken the chains themselves. They were intelligent and powerful enough to do it.

‘That explains so many things.’ Gaemon finally said.

========================

Baelon entered the room and saw Gaemon lying on the bed. His mother and sister Alyssa were changing the bandages. Even the presence of the king was ignored by the queen. Baelon was surprised that the king didn’t interrupt and just watched the cleaning.

Baelon almost lost his lunch seeing the ugly wounds and burns, which in no way looked like they were only five days old. He felt rage and helplessness seeing his younger brother like this. Even though Baelon and Aemon had drifted further from Gaemon because of the age difference and their own busy schedules in the ruling of the realm, they still loved him.

The king watched his third son being cared for by his wife and remained silent. There was a solemn silence in the room, and unfortunately, Alyssa’s hand slipped and struck one of the wounds with force.

“Fuck,” a harsh growl came from Gaemon as he batted away the hands working on his body.

Baelon and Aemon looked at each other and grinned hearing his brother cursing at such a young age.

Baelon saw Gaemon open his eyes and look around the room, finally meeting all their gazes without any trace of fear. There was a barely restrained, orderly look in his brother’s eyes, as if it were a chore to continue playing the part of a obedient son.

“Gaemon, I know you're in pain, but it’s still not the time to curse your sister and mother. We’ve been taking care of you diligently for the last five days,” Alysanne snapped, her exhaustion clear in her voice.

Gaemon looked at his mother and simply shrugged in response. He wisely didn’t argue back and instead looked at his father and brothers.

“You are here, brothers. Gaemon said while looking at both of his brothers.  “That means the Dornish idiocy is over, and you’ve won.”

 Congratulations for ending the threat early,” Gaemon finished while looking at his father.

Baelon paled in worry at the clear disrespect toward their father.

“Gaemon, and congratulations to you for successfully healing Balerion and bonding with him,” the king said, surprising everyone.

Gaemon had a shrewd look on his face but didn’t respond with insult, to the relief of everyone else in the room.

“I’m surprised to see you here, my king, without your chief lickspittle, the Septon, whispering in your ears about dragon affairs and how I violated many of the rules, including stealing your sword. In fact, I can’t remember a meeting with you without the Hand present,” Gaemon said with no visible emotion, only cold observation.

The king nodded. “Yes, Barth is our chief lickspittle, and I used him to maintain peace between the Faith and the Crown,” the king said with surprising derision. “But this is a meeting for our blood only, and I must have a frank talk with you. Only Targaryen ears are worthy of what we’re going to discuss.”

“Jaehaerys,” Alysanne snapped. “What are you talking about? Barth may be overbearing at times, but he has been our dear and loyal friend for over two decades.”

Jaehaerys scoffed. “Don’t be a fool, dear sister. We have no friends, only servants, and I measure them by how much utility I can extract. I used Barth to convince the Faith they had a voice in the Crown and to placate them. Now, after two decades have passed, and many of the lords who remembered Maegor are dead, all that remains is King Jaehaerys the Wise, the Conciliator, the Defender of the Faith. The Faith has been praising us for years now and henceforth couldn’t change their stance without it affecting their own standing among the smallfolks. Barth has long outlived his use. It’s time I give my dear friend a well-earned rest in the Starry Sept among the faithful. My sons have grown. Infact Aemon, I want you to become the new Hand of the King. This is your reward for doing the most in killing the Dornish.”

Gaemon remained silent with a glint in his eyes. Alysanne looked as if she had been struck, as if seeing Jaehaerys for the first time in her life.

“I’ll be glad to serve you, my king,” Aemon said with a bow of his head. Baelon congratulated his brother by slapping him on the back.

The king just nodded. “No one is to speak about the Handship until I announce it. Now, for more important matters. Alysanne, tell me, have you seen with your own eyes our son Gaemon healing rapidly?”

Alysanne nodded. “Yes, brother. I have seen it. It was a miracle from the gods themselves.”

Jaehaerys’ eyes narrowed as he walked toward the bed. He saw Blackfyre standing near the table beside the bed and picked it up. The sword was caked with blood and grime, but Jaehaerys ignored that as he took it.

Surprisingly fast for everyone except Gaemon, the king slashed at Gaemon’s hand with Blackfyre. Gaemon had already anticipated the move, and seeing it was an investigative slash, he didn’t dodge or move away.

The sword made a slightly deep cut in his hand, while Alysanne screamed in surprise and threw the tray holding the bandages at her brother to protect Gaemon.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jaehaerys? Have you gone completely mad?” Alysanne snapped and continued cursing him.

Jaehaerys looked embarrassed for a second before shaking his head.

“No need to attack me, my queen. I just wanted to see with my own eyes. Gaemon here understood it perfectly. He could have moved away even from my surprise attack. Isn’t that correct, my son?”

Gaemon grimaced but nodded. “Aye, I could have, Mother. Let the king satisfy his curiosity. I will always heal, after all.”

“Enough of this,” Jaehaerys said. “Now let’s have our meeting near Balerion, so we can see all around us and no one can overhear us over the noise of the dragons.”

Jaehaerys ordered this while sheathing Blackfyre at his hip and walking out of the room.

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The Hand of the King

Septon Barth had endured one of the worst weeks of his long career. Since the day Prince Gaemon was found inside the Dragonpit with Balerion, not even he—the Hand of the King—had been able to uncover what truly happened. The Queen had given strict orders to the Kingsguard that no information was to be shared with anyone, not even him.

Barth had once been relieved by Gaemon’s survival all those years ago. But in the time since, the boy had grown into a constant source of frustration—for both himself and the royal family. The arguments, the intellect, the erratic behavior... it had all been mildly amusing at first. Then it turned dangerous.

Barth had worked long and hard to earn the trust of the King and Queen. He had even helped pass that abominable Doctrine permitting incest within House Targaryen, all to ensure the Faith retained its influence across Westeros. Yet, even with those concessions, his accomplishments were few. One of his rare victories had been persuading Queen Alysanne to grant lands in the North to the Night’s Watch. He had hoped it would anger the Northmen enough to provoke rebellion, especially at a time when the realm had only two active dragonriders and infant heirs.

But perhaps Alysanne was too charming, or the Starks too cowardly. Either way, rebellion never came.

Barth really thought that would anger the northmen enough to rebel when there are only two dragonriders and only a little children as heirs, but maybe Alysanne was too charming or the Starks too cowardly.   Barth knew he had underestimated the good king’s intelligence after that incident where the king quietly took power back from the queen without almost anyone realizing it. The king had convinced the queen never to issue a unilateral order like the Gift ever again without discussing it with him first.

Barth had to admire the cleverness the king showed, making it seem as though it was all to support his dear wife in everything, and not because the previous decision had been foolish.

Ever since then, Barth had made no overt moves to promote the Faith. He had served loyally and faithfully. He decided that the next generation should be his focus. Why fight with the old when the young could be influenced so easily? Everything had been going well too, until Gaemon.

The prince had utterly rejected all gods and disappeared like a rat into the shadows whenever religion is mentioned. More than that, Barth still remembered the accusation Gaemon had thrown at the king:

“You married Aemon to Jocelyn, your own half-sister, ensuring that no other house could use her as a bargaining chip. You married Baelon to Alyssa to secure her dragon for our house. You’ve used my siblings, Maegelle and Vaegon, to infiltrate the Faith and the Citadel, the soft powers of the Seven Kingdom.”

Barth had long thought that getting Maegelle to become a septa and a devout follower had been his victory. The idea that the king might have done the same to influence them back had never even crossed his mind until Prince Gaemon said it. He had thought hard and long about it, and for the life of him, he could not find an answer.

And now again, while the king and his princes prepared to defend the realm, the youngest prince was doing something dangerous. Barth had taken pleasure when Jaehaerys denied all his children permission to claim Balerion. Barth hated the wretched beast with a passion. It was the beast that had killed thousands of the faithful. It was the beast that had turned the Sept of Remembrance into a pile of ashes. It was the beast that broke the Faith of the Faithful.

He had visited the Dragonpit monthly under the pretense of writing his book, just to see how far the monster had declined toward death. The fact that he, a pious and faithful man, was forced to feel anger and hatred when the Mother taught love for all only made his rage burn hotter. And now, Gaemon had done something to Balerion, and the wretched beast might not even die of sickness. The fact that he could not even confirm the truth was beyond frustrating.

Barth had rejoiced at the end of the war and the return of the king, because he thought he could finally hear the full story. The Kingsguard whispering to the king during the procession and later holding a secret meeting had been outside of his knowledge. When the king gave him the honor of hosting the arrogant lords and managing the court, Barth cursed Gaemon once again.

Now, as he sat on the Iron Throne holding court and listening to the endless whining of some lords, he cursed himself for ever praying for Gaemon’s recovery all those years ago.

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Author’s Note: I had written another 2k words and the meeting in this chapter itself.. but during editing it was too much reminiscent of ADS meeting and I don’t want to spoil that and hence I split the chapter into two…  probably I will publish it this month itself after ADS 40 is published. 

ADS 38

Chapter 38: The King and The Bastard.

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

King’s Landing

3 days later

Midnight.

The King’s chamber

King Jaehaerys Targaryen was not having a good week. It had started well enough, with the public humiliation of Corlys Velaryon before the realm and its lesser lords. Jaehaerys had thoroughly enjoyed the look on Corlys’s face when he named Viserys as his heir. It had been one of the few bright days since Baelon’s death and, for a moment, helped him forget the heartbreak of losing so many children while he himself remained alive as the King of the Realm

But that fleeting happiness vanished with the news that Gael had gone missing. He was too old to ride Vermithor now, or he might have summoned the Bronze Fury and taken to the skies himself in search of his daughter.

He arrived in King’s Landing with a rage he hadn’t felt in decades. He still remembered that Small Council meeting—how Otto Hightower had practically begged to remain Hand. The only reason Jaehaerys hadn’t removed him was because he himself had failed. Not even his scrying had shown him where Gael had gone or how.

His frustration grew worse when he tried to comfort his queen. Somehow, in Alysanne’s eyes, Gael’s disappearance was his fault too. It took all his control not to lash out and say that perhaps her smothering of Gael had driven the girl to flee.

Jaehaerys appointed Viserys to lead the search for Gael, giving him full authority to do whatever was necessary. That night, mentally and physically exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep in his chambers. But even as evening fell, unease tugged at his instincts—the same instincts that had kept his family alive for decades. Still, weariness won out. He placed Blackfyre on the table beside his bed, within easy reach, and lay down. He still remembered the shadow he'd once slain as a youth.

It was midnight when Jaehaerys woke suddenly, his body jerking upright faster than his age should allow. His hand reached for Blackfyre by reflex. Ignoring the ache in his joints, he scanned the room, lit by the flickering glow of oil lamps and candles. Everything appeared in place. He exhaled and lay back down.  He laid back down and immediately sat back up again finally grasping the fact that his hands had not closed around Blackfyre’s hilt when he sat up first time.

A cold sweat broke across his back. He slid a hand under the pillow, fingers wrapping around the dragonglass dagger he kept as a last resort. His eyes scanned the shadows more carefully—and then he saw it: the faint glint of light catching on Valyrian steel.

Suddenly a wind blew out of the open window, making the candles and oil lambs flare enough, moving around to light the shadow in which he saw the glint.  The intruder was sitting in the throne like chair of his that Jaehaerys liked very much. The intruder was lounging back, with a leg crossing casually on another leg.  The man was studying Blackfyre with idle curiosity, completely ignoring him.

“Don’t worry, Grandfather,” the intruder said with a smirk, finally looking at the king. “Today is not the day I become a kinslayer.”

Jaehaerys looked at his first grandson for the first time in his life. The first thing that struck him was how much young, a man nearing thirty-five looked. Daemon resembled almost the same age as Daemon the Younger. The second was the eyes. The heterochromatic gaze carried the same arrogance and restrained power Jaehaerys knew all too well—his own reflected back at him.

Finally, Jaehaerys spoke. “Daemon. To what do I owe the pleasure—now, of all times? If memory serves, you’re still exiled from the South, and I haven’t summoned you back.”

Daemon only grinned. “Don’t be like that, dear old man. We both know this isn’t my first time in the South. Why waste energy worrying about royal decrees when you’re not going to do anything about them—or more truthfully, when you can’t?”

Jaehaerys swallowed the anger rising in him. He took two deep breaths, then sighed, removing the mask of a king. Sometimes love worked better than fear or fury.

“You’re ofcourse right, grandson. We are alone and why waste time when I need my rest very much.  Why are you here and more than that, how are you here without alerting anyone?”  Jaehaerys asked with a warm smile.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment before he let out a snort. “You're sharp as ever, grandfather. Fine. I’ll indulge you.”

Jaehaerys had to control himself to stop from gritting his teeth in anger.

“I am here just to see you with my own eyes, Grandfather, and to have a talk before I leave Westeros for some years. This will be my only chance, since by the time I return, you will likely be dead. I also wanted to personally thank you for allowing me to grow in power peacefully, even though you never truly meant it when you ordered my stay in the North all those years ago.”

Jaehaerys noted the mention of travel and nodded.

“So you’re here to talk? I can understand the desire to speak with a grandparent before heading into the unknown. Then let’s talk. Hand over Blackfyre now, since talking doesn’t require a sword.”

Daemon grinned. “Well, that was my initial plan anyway, but seeing the King’s sword just lying beside you, I had to indulge my curiosity. What a sight it is. The craftsmanship is exquisite even for Valyrian steel, but the enchantments beyond the usual are what truly impressed me. This is indeed a king’s sword. You know, I was going to take Dark Sister from my young namesake before heading to Essos for protection, but now I’ve changed my mind. I will take Blackfyre with me as my birthright, like my other birthrights.”

Jaehaerys had to restrain himself from hurling the dragonglass knife at Daemon’s eyes in frustration.

“Clearly, you don’t expect to just walk out of my castle with my sword?” Jaehaerys asked, deciding to try, even though he knew intimidation would not work on Daemon. Even the Red Death would be overwhelmed by the numbers and skill gathered here.

Daemon just smirked. “I like your sheer bravado, Grandfather. Even knowing the truth, you still try to claw back what you can. For your information, I’ve grown strong enough to fight my way out even without Valyrian steel in my hand. With it, things become much easier. But that’s a hypothetical scenario. I don’t plan to walk out of this room. I plan to fly.”

Jaehaerys’s eyes widened, and his breath hitched in shock. His thoughts immediately turned to his dragon, Vermithor. The bronze fury responded.

Jaehaerys saw the landscape around the Red Keep through Vermithor’s eyes as the dragon looked from his roost. Vermithor flew up and focused, trying to locate the intruding dragon. But Jaehaerys was thrown out of his mind as Vermithor felt fear for the first time in decades.

“Cannibal,” Jaehaerys muttered reflexively as he came back to himself.

Daemon nodded. “That was fast. You have an excellent bond with the Bronze Fury, Grandfather. But he’s Cannibal no more. His name is Morghul, as of a couple of days ago.”

Jaehaerys ignored the teasing tone in the appreciation and considered the implications.

“Congratulations are in order, grandson,” he said at last, genuine pride in his voice. “Whatever else happens, you have done the impossible, since the Doom and I can appreciate the talent of my own blood. My pride as a dragonlord demands it. If you managed to survive taming Cann—Morghul—then clearly your abilities are not exaggerated. That kind of healing truly is a blessing.”

He smirked when he saw Daemon’s eyes widen at the genuine congratulations.

“So you know the truth,” Daemon said.

Jaehaerys nodded. “If by ‘truth’ you mean Balerion and Morghul being part Elder Dragon, and the fourteen Valyrian gods being fourteen Elder Dragons, then yes. Bonding with a dragon outside your bloodline is an amazing accomplishment. Clearly, your greatness came from me.”

Daemon snorted in mirth.

“I almost expected this,” he said with a disappointed sigh. “I knew you were clever and pragmatic enough. Even so, I’m disappointed. I thought you’d lose your temper, order me around, maybe even try to assert your authority as king. No anger over your orders being violated. Nothing.”

“You’re right, grandson,” Jaehaerys said. “I’m pragmatic enough to see the truth and not waste an opportunity. I don’t give orders I know won’t be followed, or that I can’t enforce. Judging by the news from Dragonstone and the mysterious fires near Cannibal’s lair years ago, that was you. You bonded a dragon years ago and did nothing. You had the golden chance to become king during the council, even with my order to the Starks. You could have flown there and claimed it, and I couldn’t have stopped you. So why didn’t you? Don’t you want to be king?”

 Daemon shrugged. “I don’t want to be king, even though I know I must be one someday. But as you must have noticed, I have a long time to achieve that. When I do become king, I don’t want it handed down. If I want something, I will take it myself.”

Jaehaerys’s eyes narrowed at the implication. “A long time?” he whispered. “Are you saying you’re not just looking young like other Valyrians—but that you actually are young?” Even he couldn’t hide the surprise from his voice.

“Yes, Grandfather,” Daemon said. “I’m un-aging. Unless I’m killed—which is a very, very difficult thing to do—I have hundreds of years ahead of me.”

Jaehaerys didn’t know how to respond. He’d known about their Elder Dragon legacy, but seeing his grandson unleash such potential was beyond anything he’d imagined.

He finally composed himself and asked, “So what is it you actually came to inform me? You never said and we went away to other topics.”

Daemon nodded. “Ah yes, we did drift from that. I wished Grandmother were here to hear it too, but I’ll see her reaction later. You can call off the search for your daughter Gael. She came with me. We were married at the Isle of Faces. Aethan Reed officiated and served as witness. Also, don’t worry about the three dragon eggs that went missing. I took them as my dowry.”

Jaehaerys closed his eyes and tried to remain calm, ignoring the slight against his sister-wife.

“Daemon, answer me this—was she willing, or did you force her?”

“Don’t worry, Grandfather. We’ve been in love for years. I was the bard in 98 AC leading one of the groups. I met her in the godswood. We became friends, then lovers. Thanks to Maegor, I could easily move through the Red Keep and Maegor’s Holdfast. Infact, I had to keep her here for years—she was desperate to escape her mother.”

Jaehaerys kept a stony mask. “I see how that happened. Another one of my failures. At least she’ll be safe with you. So you’re going to Essos? On Morghul, I assume?”

“Aye,” Daemon replied.

Jaehaerys thought for a moment and nodded to himself.

“Then I must warn you. You may be safe from direct attacks, but Gael could be targeted, especially with a dragon by her side. It’s not safe for a dragonrider. Be wary of Braavos and the followers of R’hllor. Ever since your father’s death and Baelon’s revenge, Westerosi are hated in the Three Whores. The Faceless Men are restless in Braavos. I’m sure you know much about the Free Cities, but take it seriously. They are far more dangerous than ordinary Lords.”

“I know the situation in the Three whores,” Daemon said after swallowing his surprise at the warning. “But how did you anger Braavos and the Faceless Men?”

“We had an old agreement. No dragons in Essos for war, and no Faceless Men for House Targaryen. I broke that. Since then, I’ve expected attacks, but nothing has come. Still, walking into their lair unknowing would be foolish. I suspect the Faceless Men had a role in forming the Triarchy. Lys was too strong, and a few ‘accidents’ made the alliance possible.”

Daemon looked thoughtful as he grasped the matter at hand.  After a pause, he said, “I’ll take it more seriously than I planned. Thank you for the warning. Since you’ve warned me in good faith, I’ll return the favor. I always admired your pragmatism, but calling a Great Council was a fucking mistake. You set a dangerous precedent, that made fools think they have a choice in who sits the Iron Throne. Worse, it will lead to the end of dragons in thirty years.”

He paused.

“I had a vision once. The Dance of Dragons, caused by your choice of king, Viserys Targaryen. A civil war so brutal it let every opportunist crawl from the gutter to try to end the dragons and magic itself. And when I said gutter, I literally meant it. A Flea Bottom idiot who called himself the Shepherd, lead a attack of peasants on the Dragonpit, killing many chained up dragons.

Jaehaerys tried to remain stoic but the matter before him was too serious for him to not feel surprise and then later anger. 

“Who dared pit Targaryen against Targaryen?” he asked with cold fury.

Daemon shrugged. “I only know a little. The sons of Viserys and Alicent Hightower on one side, Rhaenyra and Daemon with the Velaryons on the other. Many needed that war, but it was Viserys’s foolishness that pushed it into all-out conflict.”

Jaehaerys processed this and vowed to give Viserys a hard lesson.

Daemon continued. “You should also reduce the Maesters’ influence. Even after your orders in the 80s, they recovered and now work in secret against magic. I confirmed it through warging and greendreams. They use poison, injuries, childbirth, and disease to strike. Many have died this way.”

Every single thought of Jaehaerys come to a still and roar of the Bronze Fury was heard around King’s Landing.

“Tell me, grandson. Did Alyssa, Baelon, Daella—did they fall to the Maesters’ schemes or was it natural?”

“I’ve tried to find out,” Daemon said. “As far as I can tell, Alyssa and Daella weren’t victims. I suspect foul play in Baelon’s case. There’s no history of ‘burst belly’ in our family, and it’s easy to disguise poison that causes those symptoms. Maybe treatment came too late or was ineffective. As for your lost children—at least one was killed because Alysanne was fed a component of moon tea. Viserys’s wife was simply too young to carry a child to term and they didn’t have to do anything. Even if, all are circumstantial, the fact is they have a hidden group of Maesters in Citadel, carefully recruited among their numbers that work to their aims. I can also assure you they’ll use any future war to destroy dragons and their eggs.”

Jaehaerys was silent for a long time before another thought struck him.

“You knew Baelon would die, and you were here in King’s Landing. Yet you did nothing. You could have healed him.” Jaehaerys hissed with accusation.

Daemon shrugged. “I owe you nothing, Grandfather. I wasn’t in King’s Landing. I was in the North, arranging my wedding. I warned those I met. I told Aemon he’d die by crossbow. I told Rhaenys she’d never be queen if she married Corlys.”

Jaehaerys ignored the flimsy excuse as his thoughts raced through various scenarios. He understood his grandson then and there. Daemon was playing God and doing experiments how things could change by his hand or not.  He wondered what the actual reason for daemon’s warning is. He wanted to confront daemon here and now, but he decided to bid his time for now. 

“People forget what I’ll do to those who harm my blood,” Jaehaerys said coldly. “I’ll make sure this isn’t repeated. My only regret is that I’m too old to see it done myself.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll leave two bottles of my healing potion—one for you and one for your wife. She may need it to survive when she hears Gael ran away with me,” Daemon said with a shrug.

Jaehaerys swallowed a smirk. His suspicions about Daemon’s motivations were confirmed.

“So let me ask one last time,” he said flatly. “You’re taking my sword and my daughter and fucking off to Essos? Is there nothing that’ll make you stay, even for a wedding?”

Daemon shook his head. “No, Grandfather. I’ve taken all I need from King’s Landing. Just clean up our enemies in Westeros. I’ll do what I can in Essos. Isn’t that a fair parting?”

Jaehaerys didn’t protest, even though it infuriated him to let Daemon go with Gael and Blackfyre.

“Aye. I’ll take what I can get,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll send a raven first thing in the morning to Daemon. It is a young man’s work to get our family to Dragonstone immediately for a family meeting.  One last thing—have you seen anyone else using the secret tunnels?”

Daemon looked curious at the mention of a family meeting but didn’t ask.

“Some servants used them to move about. I also dealt with two spies and their would-be master of whisperers.”

“Thank you, Daemon,” Jaehaerys said. “Now go. I need my sleep.”

Daemon smirked as he rose. “As you command, Your Grace.” He bowed dramatically, sheathed Blackfyre, and turned to the balcony. He took one step slowly and then sprinted towards it.  

Jaehaerys almost cried out a warning before remembering who this is, but even still he was surprised as his grandson used the balcony rails as a stepping stone for jumping in to the air. Daemon soared higher than any man should, then plummeted, vanishing from Jaehaerys sight. Several heartbeats passed before the sound of wingbeats echoed through the chamber. The massive form of Morghul rose from below and flew off into the night.

“You showed too much of your hand, grandson,” Jaehaerys almost whispered before stopping himself as  he remembered Daemon’s warging. He glanced around and wondered how many rats or animals Daemon had left behind to listen.

==============================================

Daemon  Snow

“That was fun,” I whispered as I held onto one of Morghul’s horns, leaving the King’s chamber behind. I kept an eye on the King through my warg animals, but Jaehaerys simply ordered the Kingsguard to send a letter to the Vale, after waking him by pouring water on his face, summoning Daemon the Younger, There was no mention of anything else.

I smiled at that. The meeting had gone far more amicably than I had planned. I had truly underestimated how pragmatic my grandfather was. I found myself curious about the upcoming meeting and decided I had to attend, just to see what it was about.

After flying for almost half an hour, we reached the cave where I had left Gael with Fenrir.

I could feel the bonds connecting me to Fenrir, Morghul, and Gael. It was draining me for now, but the strain was lessening as my body adapted. I was truly happy to have solved the loneliness I once believed I’d have to leave this world to escape.

“Thank you, Morghul,” I whispered as I landed on the ground after jumping from his back.

“It is always good to fly together, Daemon,” Morghul replied instantly. “Even though I’m disappointed the bronze one didn’t attack me. You know it has been some time since I had dragon meat.”

I grinned. “I’m glad it didn’t come to slaughter. It would have affected my plans.”

I entered the cave and saw Gael sleeping on Fenrir. A head, the size of both my thighs put together, rose from the ground to observe me and check whether I was alright.

“I’m alright, Fenrir,” I whispered as I lay down beside Gael and wrapped an arm around her.

======================

“Daemon.”

My thoughts were interrupted as Gael called from behind while I was tending to meat on the fire.

“Aye, Gael,” I replied without turning.

Gael growled. “Don’t just ‘aye’ me, Daemon, and leave it at that. How did the meeting with my father go?”

“It was a nice meeting, Gael. Nothing to worry about. He didn’t even try to order me around after realizing I bonded with Morghul,” I said with a grin.

Gael looked relieved and glanced around the camp. Her eyes locked on the hilt of the sword lying near me.

“Daemon, please tell me that is not Blackfyre. Tell me it’s a replica,” Gael said in horror.

“No can do, my love. It is Blackfyre. Since the current King isn’t a fighter anymore and the future one is a wimp, I thought I could put it to better use in Essos. Your father was surprisingly agreeable.”

Gael cursed loudly. After a storm of swearing, she sighed and reined in her frustration, which only made my grin wider.

“When are we leaving for Essos, and how?” Gael asked.

“I thought it would be better to go in disguise. I’ve already made arrangements with an Essosi merchant. Morghul can follow us on his own. We’ll have a pleasant voyage to Dragonstone, where we’ll stop for three days.”

“Why are we stopping at Dragonstone?” she asked.

“Well, it seems your father is calling a family meeting there to deal with our matter and share some of the things I revealed to him. You’re not the only one who has visions that help set traps. Though mine will never be a honeypot, my sweet honeypot,” I said, even though I had to stop myself from cringing.

“Trap?” Gael sputtered. “Honeypot? What honeypot?” She frowned, thinking.

I saw the exact moment she understood why it was called a honeypot. She moved to hit me in embarrassment, and I just laughed.

“There’s another matter. I thought you might like to tame a dragon,” I said nonchalantly.

Gael’s eyes widened before she yelled, “Yes!”

“Well, we could try Sheepstealer,” I said.

“Why Sheepstealer exactly?” Gael asked.

“Well, as far as I know, Sheepstealer could give even Vhagar a good fight now. He’s consumed so much of my blood and grew stronger after each fight with Morghul during the taming process.”

Gael’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and she hugged me in thanks.

“Hey, hey, promise the rewards later. Let’s see what Sheepstealer does. He’s got an attitude now, ever since becoming my friend.”

“Friend?” Gael murmured with a bewildered look.

I just grinned mysteriously.

=================================

Authors note:  finally the meeting between the king and grandson.  Excited to see how it is received by all.  More than that really looking forward to see how chp 39 and 40 will be received which is the first chapters ever written in ads as I thought I will start the story in 101 AC and later changed my mind  seeing as building up to it will be more entertaining for reading.   Just re-read the 12 k words and it needs serious re-editing and some other corrections as there were some changes in background details…   

GLH 15

Disclaimer: This is a story based on Harry Potter, Marvel, DC and Image comics characters and all recognizable characters, plots belong to Jk Rowling,Marvel, DC and Image comics. I claim no ownership to it.

Chapter 15: The World Was Not Ready : Part III

Arcturus Black

His thoughts were broken as his elf delivered the latest letter. There were many pending after his showcase at the Mot, but the address on this one caught his eye.

SSR... currently known as SHIELD?

“Why the hell are muggles sending me letters by owl?” Lord Black whispered as he opened the letter wandlessly.

He read over it and snorted in disbelief. The muggle, one Coulson, was humbly requesting a meeting regarding Harry Potter and the explosion in Surrey, and even wanted to discuss Captain Rogers.

“As if I remember that muggle soldier when I have far better things to do,” Arcturus hissed with a snort. If needed, he could use Occlumency to dredge up every second of the war to remember, but he couldn’t be bothered to do so—not for a muggle. He decided to inform Harry about the letter and how to proceed.

=====================

Hogwarts.

Albus Dumbledore

Albus lounged in his heavily cushioned chair, eating his favorite muggle sweets. He appeared relaxed and thoughtful inside the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. But the truth was, his Occlumency was working overtime with three parallel thought streams. He could expand it to seven in desperate times, though that left him with severe headaches and nausea afterward. Albus saw no need to suffer, and three were enough for now.

He processed every memory from the moment he felt the immense magical energy released during Samhain: the meetings with other players, the search for Harry Potter, and finally, the spectacular duel in Azkaban. Even now, Albus had to calm his magic, as the excitement from the fight caused a visible pressure around the room.

He was almost certain the person in that duel had been Harry from the future. The final blast of energy that destroyed the Azkaban wards was nearly identical to what he felt in Surrey when he arrived there. the trial of Sirius and Lord Black’s lack of letter asking for harry confirmed it for him.  The movement in the Potter accounts was the final nail in the coffin.

Of course, he hadn't informed anyone in the Order. He had only said that Harry was found and safe. The rest of them wouldn’t understand his brilliance in deducing time travel.

How did he reach that conclusion? It was simple. During his war with Gellert, he’d seen enough to know how much larger the world truly was. The Elder Wand’s lack of performance since the duel was also suspect. No one knew the truth regarding the Potter Family Cloak except for himself and no one else could be the true Master of Death unless he is a Potter.  He wondered what had forced Harry to gamble like this.

Albus opened his eyes, weary, as he reached the conclusion he dreaded. It was time to release that man's oaths and pick up his old wand while visiting his hidden manor. He also wanted to begin dueling again.

Muggle technology had advanced so much that Albus feared the Statute of Secrecy would break within a decade. The plight of mutants was already a warning of what the common public would do when magic was exposed. Even before that, he knew his old student would return. Despite the Order being stuck on "Potter Watch," information still reached him.

Tom was stirring in the forests of Albania. His contact there reported that the Dark Lord had suffered serious damage and pain during Samhain and had now reconstituted more powerfully. The mad mutterings were gone, which made Albus dread what Tom would do next.

Albus knew that Tom was more intelligent than even himself and he had always believed that brains trump brawn almost 8 out of ten times.  It really tickled his  funny bone that Tom, then went on to the brawn way in his fighting style, when he was so dangerous had he followed the brains way.

The second piece of information his network provided was that Andromeda and Ted Tonks had moved after a meeting with Lord Black. He had the portrait of the most hated headmaster to thank. The complaints from fellow headmasters were worth the intelligence it brought. Lord Black was consolidating his resources and had finally moved to collect the erstwhile Metamorph. Albus had planned to ask Moody to take Nymphadora under his wing when she joined the Auror Corps after this year, but now he knew it would no longer be possible.

He felt the wards tingle as his deputy and the student he requested entered through the gargoyle guarding his office.

Enter, Minerva, young nymphdora.  Albus said with twinkle in his eyes. He smiled seeing the glare young metamorph gave him for calling her first name. it always amused him how almost everyone has something so silly that rankles them every single time.

“Enter, Minerva, young Nymphadora,” Albus said with a twinkle in his eyes. He smiled when he saw the glare the young Metamorph gave him for using her first name. It always amused him how almost everyone had something so silly that irked them every time.

“Albus, I am here with Nymphadora, as you asked, after our private advanced transfiguration class.”

“Headmaster,” Nymphadora greeted him, swallowing her irritation.

“Thank you, Minerva. That will be all,” Albus said kindly.

Minerva nodded and left the office. Albus observed the young Metamorph and used a magical technique—not Legilimency per se, but a method akin to magical cold reading—to sense emotions. The girl felt some trepidation and guilt. Albus wondered what mischief the Head Girl had been up to feel such guilt.

“Nymphadora,” he began with a kind smile, “have you heard from your father or mother? Last I heard, your mother had closed her potion business, and your father has been absent from many important meetings. One of them was with me.”

Nymphadora shook her head. “I’ve heard nothing except that I must come home for Christmas, and all will be explained. The letters were quite mysterious. I feel like they want to convince me not to join the Aurors. My mother always worried and was never fully supportive. Maybe the Azkaban incident spooked them, along with the injustice cousin Sirius faced,” she finished pointedly.

Albus wondered whether Andromeda understood Metamorphmagus magic—or if she simply hadn’t informed her daughter.

“Well, it’ll be a loss for the DMLE. I had planned to ask Moody to take you on as his junior partner. Alas, it’s not to be,” Albus said. He watched the girl nearly snarl in indignation, her hair shifting from brown to red, then orange, and finally blood red.

“I am an adult, and not even my mother can stop me, Headmaster. Please don’t withdraw your recommendation to Moody. I’ve worked too hard to quit now. Being an Auror has been my goal since I started at Hogwarts.”

Albus looked at the girl with pity.

“Ah, you haven’t been told yet. Lord Arcturus is not someone who’s used to being denied, especially within his own family. And your mother has taken up the Black name again. I suggest you follow her lead for now, Nymphadora. It’ll be dangerous for you soon—and I don’t mean that in the usual way. Your mother or Lord Black will explain it to you. Just like the Elementals, you too are blessed by Lady Magic, though your growth into it will be different.”

He saw the surprise in the young Metamorph’s eyes and smiled.

“In fact, let me offer a helping hand. I’ve reviewed your transfiguration lessons with Minerva, and I agree with her. You’ve honed your natural talent into true skill. Only James Potter, Minerva, and a young Tom Riddle showed talent close to yours, but your Metamorph abilities place you above them in the matter of raw talent. Yet they never approached my level in battle transfiguration—they limited themselves to traditional methods. I’ll give you private lessons twice a month, and some reading material.”

“Thank you, Professor. I won’t waste your time,” Tonks said, a little nervously.

Albus dismissed her and smiled as she tripped over the last step of the escalator due to her Metamorphmagus nature.

“Gellert, you should have followed my lead,” Albus thought. “See how far a helping hand can go.”

Albus was pulled from his thoughts as Minerva re-entered the office. He felt the volatility of her magic, and her lips were pressed thin with disapproval.

“Minerva,” Albus said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.

“Albus, you know why I’m here. Now answer. Where is Harry Potter? I told you years ago they were a bad lot—even for muggles—and now look what’s happened,” Minerva hissed.

Albus’s smile vanished. He considered his answer.

“I wish I could give you a definite answer, Minerva. But even I don’t know exactly where he is. I know he’s safe, as Lord Black hasn’t contacted me since his false threat at the Wizengamot. The only reason he hasn’t moved against me is that he knows exactly where Harry is and has no need to.”

Minerva’s eyes widened.

“You called off the Order’s search based on guesses? This is madness, Albus—even for your eccentric behavior!”

Albus ignored the rebuke.

“Please, Minerva. My guesses are almost always right, and I have other reasons to believe Mr. Potter is alive and well. The entire Potter vault has been liquidated into muggle money. Only Harry could have done that personally.”

“What?” Minerva exclaimed. “Muggle money? Why would he do that? For whom?”

“That is the question, Minerva,” Albus said ominously. “That is the question.”

=====================================  

The Hydra Base

Harry Potter looked at the two finished magical SS serums he had designed specifically for Arcturus and Sirius Black. By the time he returned to his base, the scientists had already produced the standard magical SS serum, which he now needed to adjust further. Both men had already gone through several rituals beyond the basic adaptation ritual, and he had to account for those when modifying the serum.

He was thankful he had spent so much time in his previous life obsessing over this serum—working on magical adaptations—so he could now use it in what might be his final chance.

He waved his hand and destroyed the two vials of blood he collected from the blacks which  he used to test the SS serum compatibility while developing it for them.

He waved his hand and destroyed the two vials of blood he had collected from the Blacks, which he had used to test serum compatibility during development.

Sirius was still in recovery, and Arcturus was busy with recruitment and organization. Harry knew his uncle was eager to recruit the Tonkses for some reason. He used his Memory Cache to scan through Voldemort’s memories, which he had stolen, and a grin appeared on his face when he found the reason for Arcturus’s enthusiasm.

“So this is that type of world,” Harry whispered, as he learned about Metamorphmagus traits, Elementals, and other supposed immortals.

“So Tonks is a potential immortal... and even a future magical lord when she ages enough.”

Harry scoffed. That’ll be too late for his purposes. Some form of accelerated time would be needed. He made a mental note to modify the SS serum further for her when the time came.

Harry closed his eyes as he sorted through his plans for America, where he would be leaving the next day. He had to visit Gotham and Wayne Manor to see which version of Batman he was dealing with.

He shuddered as his Memory Cache hit him with images of the hundreds of different Batmans he had encountered.

Over various lives, he had been Bruce’s protégé, son, Robin, enemy, successor—and even lover once or twice, during experimental phases. He had trained under different Batmans, and even under Batman’s mentors, to learn everything there was about being the Bat.

And yet, almost every Batman had managed to surprise him.

He knew he only had two choices regarding the Batman: either successfully recruit him, or kill him to ensure Harry’s plans proceeded without interference.

He preferred recruitment. A man of Bruce’s talent was unmatched. And having the support of one of the richest men in the world would be incredibly useful for his muggle business ventures.

Harry was hopeful this Batman didn’t have the infamous no-kill rule—or if he did, that he was pragmatic enough not to pick fights with those who did kill villains.

“Sir.”

His thoughts were interrupted by the head scientist, A. John, who had been working in the lab.

Harry didn’t even open his eyes to look at the muggle scientist. He simply waved his hand for him to continue.

“What’s next for us? Shall we continue making the base serums?” John asked hesitantly.

Harry thought for a moment before replying.

“Make only five. Then destroy every piece of written documentation. After that, try developing your own version of Erskine’s formula. Now that you know more about the serum, let’s see if you can create something more advanced—or something unique. Anything else?”

“Yes, sir. The Baron—the leader of this branch—contacted the chief here to ask why there was no prior report before this sudden surge in power and funding. We handled it, but if anything else unusual happens, it could raise suspicions.”

Harry just snorted in reply.

“Your concerns are noted, John. But even if they do discover something, there's nothing they can do. Continue as usual. Here, take this mirror.”

John looked stupefied as he took the floating mirror.

Harry scoffed.

“Ah, you don’t know what it does. Just call my name—‘Harry’—and it’ll contact me. You can talk to me if Hydra comes snooping around. Otherwise, don’t contact me at all.”

“Also, I’ll be magically locking the lab with the equipment for the SS serum injection. I’ll return with the two people chosen to receive my blessing.”

==============================================

Black Castle.

Harry appeared in the entrance room, and even he couldn’t stop the smile as the family wards welcomed him with warmth.

“Even the Black family magic loves something,” Harry whispered as he walked toward where he could feel his uncle and two other people. He increased his telepathic power, and his mind brushed against considerable Occlumency shields. Yet, he could still get the names—it was indeed the Tonkses.

It amazed him how subtle his psychic powers were. Even with considerable experience, they couldn’t sense his intrusion.

Harry reached the room’s threshold and extended his magical presence, connecting to the wards to check whether the Tonkses had accepted the proposal. He knew they had been contacted a week ago by his uncle. He could feel only family from the wards and strode into the solar as if he owned the room.

Even though Arcturus remained calm—aware of Harry's arrival through the wards—the Tonkses immediately jumped sideways, wands in hand.

Harry just grinned as his Thought Stream 3: Passive Defense and Offense Planning had already increased his magical and psychic shields to 20% even before the Tonkses had moved. His Thought Stream 7: Telepathy and Telekinesis froze them both—body and mind—by the time they stood.

Harry could feel their mental shields struggling against his hold, but it wasn’t enough. If he increased his strength, their defenses would crumble like a snow castle.

He thanked himself—and his past obsession with automated defenses used by advanced armies in the future. The Tonkses weren’t even a real threat, yet his mind responded instantly. His conscious mind could still curse, talk, or fight while they were frozen under his psychic power.

“Enough,” Arcturus snapped, and the wards responded with an invisible pressure on both Harry and the Tonkses.

Harry scoffed and released his hold over them. With a subtle use of telekinesis, he eased them gently back into their chairs—no need for them to fall on their bums.

“Now, now, no need to fight among allies. Tonkses, this is Harry Potter—and I’m sure now you believe everything I’ve been telling you over the past week. I’m not exploiting a child for profit—he’s exploiting me and the Blacks,” Arcturus grumbled.

“Don’t be a complaint box, dear uncle. You’re looking younger than before, and I can feel your magic becoming more active and recovering. See? That’s the basic benefit of me knocking on the Black Castle wards all those days ago. And now, I’ve even completed the promised Super Soldier Serum—magical version—for both you and Sirius. What a generous nephew I am! Also, Andromeda and Ted—I can feel you’ve completed the reinstatement rituals, so let me welcome you both to the Black family as the heir’s heir,” Harry said with an open grin.

He could feel the incredulity and pure surprise from the Tonkses. They couldn’t process the dichotomy between his childlike appearance and his behavior and power.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” Andromeda said.

“No need for that. We’re family—call me Harry,” Harry said with a welcoming smile, while his  psychic powers blasted out a Trust me aura, which calmed them both.

“Oh, granddaughter, Ted—don’t be fooled by the face of this little monster. He’ll kill you both with that same charming grin if it serves his goals.”

Both Tonkses froze, and Harry felt a ripple of fear from them.

“Please, uncle, don’t be a spoilsport. I have no reason to harm them, as long as they don’t betray me. And I know they have no reason to do so. The magical contract has already made it certain. But if they do betray me, I assure you I won’t do something as merciful as killing. Death is a gift from me to my enemies. For traitors, the punishment will be far greater than death,” Harry said with the same smile.

Ted didn’t know what to say, but Andromeda simply nodded with forced calm before saying,

“Then let me say—we have no reason to betray you. It’s all for Nymphadora, after all.”

“Ah, the young Metamorph,” Harry said. “You guys were truly lucky to have Dumbledore’s and others’ protection. But now you don’t have to worry—your family is under my protection, and I protect what’s mine very aggressively.”

Andromeda looked visibly relieved.

“I’m thankful for that, Harry. And we’ll need your help this Christmas to convince Nymphadora to delay her Auror ambitions.”

“Oh?” Harry raised his eyebrows. “Why me?” Then he smirked.

“Ah, I get it—she needs to see the overwhelming difference between the ordinary and those favored by Lady Magic. Don’t worry, I’ll be here, and I’ll take her under my wing and train her.”

“Speaking of Metamorphmagi, Uncle, what’s the latest with the two Black immortals—the first one, and your sister Cassiopeia?”

Arcturus grumbled in annoyance.

“Well, I sent letters and even hinted at things, but there was no reply.”

Harry frowned. “No matter. Don’t bother sending anything more. The immortals will come begging for information once the truth is revealed. Curiosity is, after all, an immortal’s greatest sin—and boredom, their greatest enemy.”

Arcturus snorted, and even Andromeda laughed.

“Ted,” Harry called, “I want you to start the procedure for incorporating a muggle private limited company—LEP Ltd, named after my mother and the founder of the formula it’s based on.”

“Harry,” Andromeda called, making Harry look at her curiously, “are you aware of ICW rules and how strict they are? This won’t end well for us.”

“Oh?” Harry said. “Don’t worry about the ICW, Aunt. We’re a long way from selling to muggles. Every potion needs to be handmade—at least by a squib—to infuse magic into the concoction. We’re going to stockpile and train a workforce before going public. The launch must be so massive that even trying to stop the potions after the launch would lead to worldwide riots. I’ll take care of anyone who thinks they can dictate terms.”

“Wait, wait,” Arcturus cut in. “So for years, we’re not even getting returns? This is going to drain my coffers. And for what? Do we even have enough potion ingredients to do what you’re saying, Harry?”

“There aren’t enough ingredients for our needs, and people will notice long before we go public,” Harry said calmly with a shrug. “I’m working on it. If all goes well, we’ll produce ingredients in bulk year-round. Lady Magic is always with us, after all.”

  “I see,” Arcturus replied with a frown. Harry noted that Andromeda still didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t protest—potion-making was her job, not logistics.

Harry remained silent as the Tonkses excused themselves after asking for clarification on the new business plans.

“So, you said you’ve finished it?” Arcturus asked with curiosity.

“Yep,” Harry replied with a pop.

“Do you think it’s even essential for me now? I’m old, and training with new abilities would be a cumbersome task,” Arcturus said.

“Well, you could remain a weak old man and be taken down by the next physically powerful person who comes after me,” Harry said dryly. “We don’t need the strength aspect with our magic, true—but the reflexes, speed, and mental augmentation are game changers, Uncle. Earlier, I had to consciously use magic to empower my body. Now, the moment I think about it, it’s already in effect. With the enemies we’re going to face, that kind of automation is crucial for survival.”

Arcturus sighed. “Yeah, yeah, more wars to fight. I’ll take it, nephew—no need for further motivation. Speaking of enemies… I don’t know if they’re enemies yet, but I received a letter by owl from a muggle spy. He even referred to Charlus’s old friends from the muggle world during the Great War. They wanted to know about you, what happened in Surrey, and your muggle uncle’s place. I ignored it as usual, but I want you to read it and deal with it. I’ve got better things to do than talk about a captain I barely know.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“A muggle spy knows enough to reach out to you?” He scoffed. “Clearly, you lot have been exaggerating about the ICW and its hard on for statue of secrecy then.   Let me see it.”

Arcturus pointed to a letter on the table, and Harry willed it to float toward him, opening it midair.

Lord Black,

I am writing on behalf of one of the associations you were part of, in service to Great Britain alongside your friend Charlus Potter during World War II. You may remember it as the SSR, now evolved into SHIELD under your old friends, Stark and Carter.

We have discovered that Harry Potter has gone missing from normal London after the explosion that killed his mother’s family and many others. This is a serious matter. Since you assumed control as Regent of House Potter, please allow a meeting between us and Harry if you know where he is—or at least allow a meeting regarding the explosion.

On a personal note, I would love to arrange a lunch with you to reminisce about your comrades—especially Captain Steve Rogers.

Phil Coulson,

Agent of SHIELD

Harry finished reading as his thought streams searched for Phil and SHIELD in his memories. The answer came quickly, along with a flood of information, which he promptly filtered, retaining only the essentials.

“Interesting. Very interesting to see them involve themselves this fast,” Harry said after a moment. “Ignore them for now. Let’s see how they proceed. Same strategy as with Dumbledore.”

Arcturus nodded.

“A good strategy—when we have the upper hand, let the opposing players show their hand first.”

===============================         

Lucius Malfoy

Malfoy Manor

Lucius looked at the silver prosthetic as it held the firewhiskey tumbler. He missed feeling the coldness of the drink with his own hands. He swirled the whiskey and took another sip, cursing the damned Blacks.

His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of his beautiful wife, Narcissa.

Lucius looked at the woman and felt horrible that she had to suffer this indignity. She looked pale and sick, with how the magic had cut out the Black family magic from her veins. More than that, it made him tremble in rage at how public it had been. He knew she would recover, but seeing her like this made him feel pity.

“Enough, Lucius. I don’t want your pity,” Narcissa snarled. “I warned you, years ago, to never turn your wand on a Black in front of them, and you went and did just that in front of Lord Black—who fought in the Great War. Even Bella, in all her madness, knew to grit her teeth and swallow her anger when he sat and insulted her precious Dark Lord. I told you to keep it subtle when you were in St. Mungo's, but you provoked my grandfather enough that he exiled me from the family—just to weaken you politically and financially.”

 Lucius took the entire glass of Firewhiskey to calm his anger at his wife’s pointed words.

“I had no choice, Narcissa. I was humiliated in front of the world. Our plan—one we’ve implemented for over a decade—was crumbling before my eyes, and I had a solid chance to get the Wizengamot to do my work for me. How in Merlin’s name was I to know that cursed rat was still alive, and in the hands of your grandfather? I had the Wizengamot in my palm, and I thought it was a done deal,” Lucius snapped.

Narcissa snorted and then laughed—hard. Lucius poured himself another shot, ignoring the laughter that eerily reminded him of her insane elder sister.

“Oh, poor Lucy,” Narcissa cooed in between laughter. “You thought you had the Wizengamot in your hands in just a few years, while my grandfather ruled it for decades? At least you could’ve escaped the humiliation of losing your hand in a single move by stating the fact that his bodyguard fought off Albus Dumbledore. My grandfather walked into Azkaban with a plan, and he did the same with the Wizengamot. He knew there would be opposition, and he brought the big staves to do what he needed. You fell into a non-existent trap—one he hadn’t even aimed at you.”

Lucius used his Occlumency to think through what Cissy said, and he grimaced. In his haste to seize the Black lordship and fortune, he’d been blinded by his own arrogance. He’d been the political king for so many years that he forgot others could threaten even him.

“I’m sorry, Narcissa,” Lucius said. “You lost the bigger thing from these events. I really want to meet the person who spread the rumor that Lord Black was old and almost mad in his self-imposed exile. If not for that 'accepted truth' all these years, I would’ve taken more prudent steps. I blame Dumbledore too. I’m sure he could’ve blocked the curse from taking my hand—if he wanted to.”

Narcissa had analyzed the memory of the fight, and she knew Albus would have done so if it had been one of his allies standing beside him. She’d seen him react much faster in battles with the Dark Lord.

 “There’s nothing to be done, Lucius. We lost this round without gaining anything. I also want you to promise me that you will ignore the bodyguard entirely,” Narcissa said.

Lucius hissed, “Why?”

“I’m sure the bodyguard was my aunt Cassiopeia herself. She’s a metamorph, and they can easily ascend to magical lord level if they work hard enough. There are no other magical lords who could do my grandfather’s bidding. The other is the First Black, but I don’t think she’s involved.”

Lucius felt a chill hearing about the First Black. No wonder Arcturus was bold enough to declare a blood feud against entire factions.

“I see,” Lucius hissed. “I’ll follow your suggestion in this, Narcissa. I should have followed your advice about the Black family lordship too.”

Narcissa just nodded and left to rest.

Lucius sat there, nearly finishing Ogden’s Finest, and began planning how to handle the political landscape. More than that, the magical situation grated his nerves. There had been a surprising amount of violence in the magical world since the blasted explosion at Harry Potter’s muggle home.

Plan after plan passed through his Occluded mind, but none seemed worthwhile. With a grimace, he raised his wand and unlocked the hidden chamber in his table, protected by his greatest security spells.

He took out a black diary that appeared to be a common one, with the initials T. M. Riddle engraved on the back.

====================================

Nicholas Fury

USA

Fury had only just landed when he called on his deputy, Maria Hill, for a debrief. He’d been thinking about the entire situation and how to proceed when Black didn’t respond to their letter. Fury was very tempted to reach out through his own contacts in MI6, but he decided not to involve them further now that the magical spies had finally discovered their existence.

As per his instinct, Black would ignore a letter from a lowly muggle, Fury thought with disgust.

Fury would have ignored the entire situation if not for the new information—millions in muggle currency converted from the Potter accounts. Even a rent-a-cop knows to follow the money trail. And money is power—for everyone. That kind of interest in the muggle world, especially now of all times, was something he couldn’t ignore.

Fury had the numbers of two of the most powerful people he had ever met—both women—who could personally intervene if the situation with the wizards escalated. But he didn’t want to call Carol back from space. The other was someone who personally knew the Blacks and the Potters.

Diana Prince. Wonder Woman. A demigod. An Amazon of Themyscira.

Even Fury’s ironclad control had slipped when Peggy first introduced the woman to him during his time as deputy—and as the potential future Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., if it ever came to that.

Maybe it was time to introduce her to his own deputy after all, Fury thought as Maria Hill entered his office.

 =====================

Nolan Grayson

Nolan had been having a good vacation ever since he came back from his trip to Viltrum and the entire war with the Mad Titan. Even now, sometimes Nolan felt a chill in his spine remembering the ordeal of meeting the Titan and rescuing Conquest.

Debbie had asked many times why he wasn't contacting any world governments, Nolan managed to explain it away as orders from above, and that Earth wasn't ready to know the truth.

Mark was now almost nine, and Nolan thought it was an appropriate age to start showing his Viltrumite powers—at least. But to his happiness, Mark seemed to have no powers at all.

Even though, Nolan had stayed a stay-at-home dad who wrote superhero novels and comics, Mark still ended up being heavily influenced by it.

Even the scientists back on Viltrum couldn’t say what age a half-breed might begin showing his Viltrumite heritage. Nolan used to scan Mark monthly with the Green Lantern ring, and the results were messy. Mark definitely had Viltrumite DNA, but it was constantly clashing with the X-Gene inherited from Debbie. And by the looks of it, the Viltrumite DNA was going to win—completely overpowering the X-Gene.

Nolan had not reported that back to Viltrum, as he didn’t want to think about the future orders that might follow upon hearing that news.

Nolan had been keeping up with his training by flying to other planets in the solar system and grinding through their harsh environments, all while using the Green Lantern ring to add resistance during flight. At first, there was no improvement, but years later, Nolan could feel that he had at least gotten somewhat faster.

It was after one such flight and return to Earth when the ring informed him of something:

"Warning: Huge amount of uncontrolled esoteric energy detected. Proceed with full-powered shielding."

Nolan’s eyes widened slightly at the suggestion of full-powered shielding. He usually didn’t need a shield, but even he acknowledged how powerful a Green Lantern shield was—if your will was strong enough. To overpower it, the energy had to be tremendous, or shredding matter itself.

“Where is it?” Nolan asked.

"Detecting..."

"The energy is from north of the equator and 500 miles from your current location."

Nolan almost flew there immediately before stopping himself. He knew the authorities would be watching the area closely, and having a man fly in would not exactly be inconspicuous. He decided to do nothing for now and started heading home.

"Esoteric energy, huh?" Nolan whispered. "I wonder if it's the same kind as the low cosmic energy Conquest can now absorb and use—after being tortured by it in the hands of Thanos."

=============================

ADS 37

Chapter 37: The Isle of Faces

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Kingslanding

7th Moon, 101AC

Daemon Snow

I was lying in my bed, in my room at one of the higher-end inns in King’s Landing. This had become one of my regular haunts during my stay in the city. I had just used my warg scouts in Harrenhal to verify the events unfolding there, and I was satisfied to see that the canon remained intact.

I closed my eyes—it was time to contact Cannibal. Unlike with lesser animals, connecting with him required complete focus. It took some effort, but I finally reached the closed-off mind.

‘Cannibal,’ I called out.

As usual, the reply was instant.

‘Daemon. Is it finally time for the ritual?’

‘It is,’ I said. ‘The night choosen is a full moon, and it’s the seventh day of the seventh moon. Gael turns twenty-one, and there will be three participants in the ritual. It’s the gods’ blessing that all the numerical elements have aligned.’

Still, now that the time was near, I often wondered—how the fuck did it all come together so perfectly.  Even if one aspect was not there I could convince myself not to do this ritual, but the opportunity was so perfect that I couldn’t risk not going through it. Not in this death world.

‘I sense hesitation in you, Daemon. Unlike before’, Cannibal noted, his tone filled with complete indifference.

‘I have a question—why now?’ I asked. ‘Why not wait until the natural end of Gael’s life and perform the ritual then? Even though twenty-one is the ideal age, the magical strength she’ll gain as she grows could compensate.’

‘Fool.’ His reply was a snarl. ‘This kind of idiocy is why Valyria is no more. The ritual demands the sacrifice of her love and the time she wants to spend with you. That’s what fuels it—so that Fenrir and I can spend our entire lives with you. Your power-sharing ability is what grants us our immortality through the soul bond. If you wait until Gael’s life ends naturally, then there’s nothing left to sacrifice.’

‘That... surprisingly makes sense,’ I said, feeling a stab of sorrow. ‘I’ll contact you when it’s time. Be ready.’

I ended the link and opened my eyes. There was no point expecting empathy from Cannibal. I needed to be alone to prepare myself for what I had to do.

===============================

I opened my eyes to the familiar sight of the pristine stone ceiling in Gael’s chamber. Gael was lying with her head in my chest. Seeing the sight, something tightened in my chest as the day I had to kill her neared. 

Today was the announcement of the Great Council’s victor—Prince Viserys. I needed to act soon, to take Gael with me.

Fortunately for me, Alysanne was bedridden due to old age and the latest argument before the Great Council with the king. It amused me very much that, unlike canon, Alysanne survived till now—indirectly due to my meddling and Gael’s continued survival. Since Alysanne is bedridden, it would give me almost a day’s lead before the fact that Gael is missing would be discovered in the Red Keep.

"Gael," I called lightly, while shaking her slightly with the hand wrapped around her.

After some more prodding, Gael finally awoke and greeted me with a smile.

"Love, it is time," I said with a gentle smile.

For a moment, Gael looked confused, but then gave me the brightest smile. The smile turned into an excited grin, and she hugged me tightly.

"Finally, it is time," Gael exclaimed. "Now, how is it to be done? What shall I do?"

I chuckled softly before shaking my head.

"You have to do nothing, Gael. I will prepare everything. Today the results of the Great Council will be announced, and after that, the lords and your father will be on the road. We will move on the day they start their journey and travel to the Isle of Faces for our marriage. I give them 3–4 days before they leave Harrenhal."

Gael looked surprised.

"Isn’t that dangerous? Many lords, and even my father, will be on the roads—even though he will be in a carriage now. By the time we meet on the road, the ravens would have flown."

I just smiled mysteriously, as I had decided to go on Cannibal’s back.

"Oh dear Gael, don’t worry. I have already arranged transport. Now I just want to collect the generous dowry that your father, the king, would have given for your hand," I said smugly.

Gael laughed initially, but seeing my smugness, she asked,

"Daemon, what are you planning? By Balerion, I swear if you get caught because of your arrogance and ruin my chance to escape, I will kill you."

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony of the statement, considering my own plan. I ignored the hard truth and laughed.

"That would be comic gold—you trying to kill me and failing repeatedly. Anyway, don’t worry. I’ll get my dowry in the form of three dragon eggs without anyone knowing, at least for a week."

"Dragon eggs?" Gael asked with a frown. "Even you would be overwhelmed by others, Daemon, during the time they take to grow before you can claim one of them."

"Well, who said they’re for me?" I asked smugly. "Why would I need dragonlings when I already have my own dragon—who, by the way, will be our ride to the God’s Eye?"

For a moment, Gael was struck silent in sheer shock, and then a yell of "What?!" echoed around the room.

I shrugged nonchalantly.

"So, back five years ago—I was bored, and I thought Dragonstone was a nice vacation spot. I saw Cannibal flying there. Then a thought hit me—why shouldn’t I have a dragon of my own? And thus, I tamed Cannibal," I finished with a mocking grin.

It took some time for Gael to come out of the stupor.

"Daemon, I don’t know what to say. You successfully kept the secret that you tamed Cannibal for five years? How did you manage that?"

"Well, it wasn’t easy, let me tell you that. The control I needed not to fly during the daytime just to see the world was legendary, in my opinion. The only thing that made it possible is that Cannibal’s mountain is abandoned on Dragonstone—that gave me privacy. Also, my abilities allowed us to fly higher than any other dragonriders."

Gael nodded.

"That is your plan of travel to the God’s Eye then. I shall be ready when you come for me, Daemon," Gael said while hugging me tighter.

I just smiled and hugged her back, while smothering a small pang of guilt.

========================================

I grinned as I saw the sheer shock on Gael’s face, seeing me petting Cannibal. It was the day of the elopement, and I had sneaked Gael out of the Red Keep and later, after some disguises, just walked out of King’s Landing.

We met Cannibal near Kingswood, by the shore. It was nighttime by the time we reached there.

"Daemon, it’s just surprising to see this—even with your boasting. You know I’ve heard so many horror stories about Cannibal when I was on Dragonstone, and yet here I see you petting it like any other dragon," Gael said in wonder.

I immediately had to calm down Cannibal, as she felt insulted by the comparison to “any other dragon.”

"Dear, please don’t compare her to any others. I just had to use my entire will to stop her from killing you now. She understands Common Tongue very well, not just Valyrian."

Gael’s eyes widened at that, and she looked at Cannibal with some embarrassment.

I smirked at the sight, but it was time to fly. Gael looked at me like I was a madman as I explained my plan of flying to the God’s Eye at night with no saddle and on Cannibal’s rough scales.

"Do you want to kill me, Daemon? It’s insane to fly without a saddle even during the day—and you want to do it at night?" Gael exclaimed.

The question hit me hard, but I managed to keep my grin.

"Believe me, Gael, I don’t want you falling from dragonback. Don’t worry—I’ll use ropes for safety, and I’ll even bind you to me with them. You can sit in front of me, and I’ll make sure you don’t fall off, by holding you"

"Don’t think I didn’t realize this is just an excuse to grope me, you pervert."

I just shrugged while grinning.

====================

The Isle of Faces

We landed on one of the shores near the lake. Even Cannibal appeared a little miffed by the eerie atmosphere of the island. I had to scout the island personally weeks ago, as even my warging was blocked here. The entire fandom was full of tales of green men, and I’d enjoyed those stories in my last life. I searched for them, but I couldn’t find any—or even signs of their presence—on the island. Even my discount mage sight could only see the trees glowing with bright light, showing that magic filled the very air of the isle.

I had chosen the ritual site near the center of the island, where a large clearing allowed even Cannibal to lounge. I liked the simplicity of the ritual as it needed only blood and the sacrifice.

My animal scouts outside the God's Eye lake nudged my mind, and an image of Aethan trying to cross the lake appeared in my mind.

Old friend, I don’t want you witnessing this, I thought with sadness, but was immediately interrupted by a shout of alarm from Gael and her leaping to hide behind me. I could feel the sudden mirth from two of my bonds, and I saw the green eyes of my direwolf, Fenrir, approaching through the trees. I couldn’t even mock Gael, as any sane person would be terrified at his appearance.

"Gael, don’t be afraid. Didn’t I already tell you about my direwolf pup I went beyond the Wall to find?"

Gael quickly composed herself and swallowed her embarrassment.

"You did, but you never explained it was this big or its colors."

"Come," I said and tugged her hand. "I’ll show you, the size is all for show. He’ll be a little pup again if you do this."

I walked toward my oldest companion and petted him on the neck. Fenrir had to lie down for me to reach his ears easily. Gael hesitated for a second, then came forward and petted him.

"He’s so soft," Gael whispered as she used both hands to stroke his fur.

I immediately felt Fenrir’s approval of Gael—and a question: whether he could keep her. I sent him a mental wave of helplessness in response.

I could also feel indifference—and even a little excitement—from my other bond: Cannibal.

"Daemon, you must start writing the symbols," Cannibal’s voice entered my mind.

I nodded. It would take two days to paint the symbols—not because they were long, but because they had to be painted at mid-noon, midnight, and mid-noon again. The ritual itself would be performed at midnight on the second day.

====================

Two days later

Near Midnight.

I spent the last two days in another part of the island, sneaking into the clearing at the center only when it was time to paint the symbol with my blood. Even with my distracted mind, I could sense that Gael was feeling unwell and down that day.

It started with small things. The happiness in her eyes slowly faded into melancholy. Her laughter at my jokes turned into polite chuckles. The only thing that brought out a genuine smile was when Fenrir tackled me from behind and spun around to lick my face when I praised him.

"Daemon, it is time."

Cannibal’s hard voice echoed in my mind. Midnight was approaching.

“I know, Cannibal.”

I couldn't help but wonder why, even now, I could feel only cold indifference from him. I knew he loved me, and I could feel the strength of our bond—but there was nothing for Gael. Fenrir had liked her instantly because I did. Why couldn’t Cannibal feel even a hint of sorrow for what we were about to do?

“Is there any other way to secure what we want? I asked one last time. I don’t care if I have to cause another Doom or burn an entire Free City to ash.”

“No.”

The answer came instantly.

“There is no other path, Daemon. You always have a choice. You can always walk away and be alone forever—which I do not recommend, based on my own existence.” Cannibal’s response carried a chilling finality.

“Well then, let’s get to it.”

===============================

I had escorted Gael to the clearing by saying I found the center of the island, surrounded by the largest weirwood trees I had ever seen. She showed some curiosity and excitement at the sight, but it was muted. Still, she came with me without any fuss.

I saw her eyes widen in wonder as we finally entered the clearing and saw the heart trees. The faces carved into the trunks bore different expressions, and for the first time, I felt disapproval emanating from them as I entered. All this time, I had felt nothing from the old gods. But now, I could sense their rejection of the sacrifice I was about to make.

As usual, I ignored the supposed will of beings who don't truly care about lesser creatures.

We were walking side by side when we entered, and I was so distracted by my thoughts of the old gods that I didn’t realize Gael had stopped walking ten steps behind me.

I stopped and turned around, seeing a sad expression on her face. She was staring at me, and I felt as if I was being judged—my secrets exposed.

"Is that it, Daemon?" Gael finally asked, her voice cold.

"Is what it?" I replied, trying to maintain my usual smirk, though I failed miserably.

"Are you going to kill me without even telling me why?" she asked, and the sheer indifference in her voice felt like a slap.

My mind went into overdrive trying to figure out how she found out. Nothing came up, and the only explanation I could think of was magic. I tried to expand my empathy and warg presence to read Gael, but the Isle blocked me.

I wanted to deny it, but I couldn’t voice the words. I sighed in defeat and nodded.

"There’s no explanation that justifies this, Gael—at least not to you. I could weave a poetic tale to make you understand, but ultimately, this is pure selfishness on my part. I need a sacrifice to power a ritual, and you are that sacrifice. The powerful take what they want, and the weak suffer. That’s the harsh truth of the world. I embraced it long ago."

Gael remained silent for several minutes before she finally nodded.

"At least you’re honest about it. Come now, let’s get it over with. Where do you want me to stand?"

And for the first time in this life, I was shocked beyond anything I had experienced. My mouth opened in disbelief, and only a mental nudge from Cannibal snapped me out of it.

Swallowing my sorrow, I pointed to the center of the clearing where I had drawn a circle with my blood. Gael walked over and stood in it, offering me a small, welcoming smile.

I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and opened them as I regained the will to go through with it. I took the dragonglass knife from my pocket and walked toward the center. Gael’s smile was calm, her eyes full of love.

I was only a hand’s distance from her when I noticed my hand holding the knife was trembling. I stood there, staring into her eyes, hands still slightly shaking.

I shook my head to clear the hesitation and pulled my arm back, ready to stab her in the heart. Maybe this was my punishment for mocking Jon Snow so much for killing Dany in the end. Here I was, reenacting something similar. But unlike him, I would gain something much more from it.

I was halfway through the motion when a vision of Aethan and our last meeting was forced into my mind from the outside.

‘I don’t see how a beast oozing that much malice could ever feel the things you just said, Daemon. Anyway, please be careful and thoughtful about whatever you do. This world is not ready to lose you yet, my dear friend.’

‘Your warning is noted, friend. I will be wary in my dealings.’

My knife was nearly at her chest when my hand stopped. My mouth moved on its own.

"Why?"

Gael’s eyes widened in surprise, and her hands trembled at seeing the knife so close. She swallowed several times before a smile returned to her face.

"I’m glad you asked. Daemon, there is no specific reason. The truth is, I love you. And what is love, if not the willingness to sacrifice everything for it? If you really want to know—the first day you sang for me, I knew you were going to kill me. I was always the useless Gael no one cared about, except for being the daughter of a king. I knew you were using me. I knew you were my nephew. I dreamt of it. I dreamt the change you brought by replacing the filthy bard who cheated on me. I knew you were feeding me your blood to heal my mind and body. As I recovered, I saw you clearly, and I loved you. Why shouldn’t I? No one else has ever loved me for me. My mother saw me as a replacement for my sisters. She would’ve killed my child and me with moon tea. My father and my mother denied me—first Viserys, then Daemon, then every man who proposed to marry me. So why shouldn’t I be willing, when one member of my family saw me, even if just to use me? You gave me the greatest days of my life, Daemon. I was never meant to see 100 AC, but you made it possible. Let me return the favor. If your greatest days come from sacrificing me, then so be it. I will do it out of love and respect I have for you, nephew.”

I was struck numb by that and I felt my eyes watering slightly.  My own muted empathetic sense was back suddenly and I could feel the sheer love she has for me. It was something that I haven’t felt since my grandfather died. The only other being who would do so for me is Fenrir and I wouldn’t sacrifice him for anything in this world.  I know the other persons who love me, but I don’t see them sacrificing for me like Gael or Fenrir or my grandfather.

And finally, My iron tight control over my emotions broke for the second time in this life. But unlike before it was not due to Rage and Sadness. It was because of Love and Happiness. 

“Oh, for Doom’s sake, stab her and let it be done. I can’t stand here watching you be so silly and soft.”  Cannibal’s harsh voice snarled in my mind.   

My anger rose and my mind lashed out through the bond with Cannibal. Maybe it was due to the place being Isle of Faces or maybe my own emotional state was empowering me or maybe it was finally my own power learning enough and the growth over the years, my mental attack lashed through the defence of Cannibal’s mind and I was in his thoughts.

The first thing that hit me was the sheer glee Cannibal was feeling as he watched me standing there with a knife to Gael’s heart. The indifference he had been projecting was nowhere to be found. I was stunned—and immediately, I was thrown out of her mind.

I expected anger, cursing, or sadness from Cannibal, but there was nothing. No feeling at all in response to what I had almost done.

By now, I could feel wetness on my face from the tears that had already fallen. I was snapped out of my thoughts by a harsh slap across the face—from Gael.

“Daemon, if you’re going to kill me, then do it now. Don’t make my heart stop by just standing there with the knife while bleeding from your eyes like the heart trees.”

I looked down. The knife was still lightly pressing against her chest, and my thoughts kicked into overdrive again. After a few seconds, I made my decision.

“No. I’m not going to sacrifice you. You don’t deserve such a fate after showing me so much love. If I am to be alone centuries from now, then so be it. I’ll deal with it then—but it will not be today.”

Gael squeaked in surprise, slapped the knife from my hand, and hugged me tightly. Approval and happiness surged into my mind from Fenrir.

“Daemon, are you sure about this?” Cannibal asked immediately in my mind. But unlike before, I couldn’t feel him inside it. We could still communicate, but the overwhelming power imbalance was gone. My own mental defenses had grown strong enough to keep him from snooping in uninvited.

“Yes. I’m more certain about this than anything else, Cannibal. I will not betray someone who loves me this deeply. I’d rather cherish her memory centuries from now than spend those years in sadness with you and Fenrir.”

“Also—why were you so happy to see me go through with it? Were you trying to trap me? Or was it some kind of test—like those evil dragons from the old tales?” I added, a touch of mirth in my voice. But my muscles had already tensed as my enhanced mind processed the chain of events as said the words.

Cannibal bonding- convenient ritual- casual interest to enact it- indifference projection while feeling so much glee- Aethan’s warning.

My hands tightened protectively around Gael’s waist as Fenrir jumped in front of us, shielding us with his massive body. A deep growl rumbled from his throat, so fierce that even I felt a chill down my spine.

“You don’t have to be wary anymore, Daemon,” Cannibal hissed. “The danger has passed. And I approve.”  There was a finality in which he said the last sentence.

Instantly, I could feel our connection deepening further and I was inside the mind of Cannibal and he was inside mine. But this time, it was different. Every other warg bond I’d made, except for Fenrir’s, was forced on lesser beasts. Cannibal had always held the upper hand—until now.

Now, we were equals. Both of us could choose to sever the bond temporarily if we wanted. We could suppress our own memories, block thoughts from bleeding out. There was nothing the other could do to override it. 

Warily, I probed deeper, trying to uncover the truth. My eyes widened in fear.

“This was a fake ritual. You wanted to kill me—to usurp my abilities,” I said flatly.

There was no hint of shame or regret in Cannibal’s answer.

“Yes. This was a test, Daemon. A test to see whether you were worthy of being my bonded—or if you were just my shortcut to power. If you could betray someone who loved you that deeply, so easily, what would stop you from betraying me later? It would have allowed me to break the first-level Pact of Fire we made.”

I was speechless, trying to process it.

“How? What? How...?” I sputtered.

“The ‘how’ is simple enough, Daemon. It answers all your lingering questions. I am a direct descendant of an Elder Dragon. One of the beings this world once worshipped as the Fourteen Valyrian Gods. I am one-quarter Elder Dragon. So was the Black Shadow, though we came from different lines. If you had succeeded in killing your beloved, I could have broken the pact without consequences. You would be the sacrifice then and Your power would have been mine, allowing me to easily grow strong enough to rival a half-Elder Dragon.”

His voice carried admiration and longing as he spoke of the Elder Dragons.

The only reason I didn’t try to break the bond or escape is I could literally see and feel the emotions of cannibal like an open book now.  Before the only thing I could feel from cannibal was love and care for me, but now I could feel everything, just like I could from Fenrir.  

“So, you’re a quarter Elder Dragon. But how were you still so willful while Balerion obeyed his riders? He even killed another dragon—Quicksilver,” I asked.

Cannibal just laughed.  “You think Balerion wasn’t willful? He was like all of us. It took immense willpower to keep him in line. And do you really think it was that foolish girl’s wish to fly into the cursed lands of our ancestors? No, Daemon. It was Balerion who kidnapped her to Valyria—to see if she could open sealed doors with her blood.”

I was morbidly amused and wondered what had happened in those cursed lands.

“So the Elder Dragons are still alive—just somewhere else?” I asked.

“Yes,” Cannibal replied. “The foolish blood sorcerers—just remnants of old flings between Elder Dragons and humans when we they took mortal form—believed they could sacrifice the Gods themselves to steal their power. An Elder Dragon’s fury is a disaster. Fourteen at once? That was the Doom. After the Doom, only I and the Black Shadow remained, the most powerful of our kind. We made a pact to share the volcanic islands, which reminded us of the Fourteen Flames.”

I was grateful that our thoughts moved so fast. Even now, Gael had only just realized how tightly I was holding her and that Fenrir had jumped in front of us.

I ignored that for now, focusing on more urgent matters—Cannibal, and how close I had come to death today. I no longer harbored any optimism about surviving a surprise attack from him. Cannibal knew my weaknesses now. If he struck, it would be to kill. And I would have died today. 

“Cannibal, what’s stopping me from just ignoring you forever and trying to break our bond every day? I know I’ll manage it eventually, even if it is the second level Pact of Fire, as you called it.”

“As I said, Daemon, you have nothing to fear from me anymore. That foolish girl should’ve initiated a second-level Pact of Fire before climbing onto the Black Shadow. The magic won’t even allow us to harm each other—it actively encourages cooperation. Just like now, I’m compelled to share the true Ritual of Soul Bond with you. There’s a reason I told you to bring three dragon eggs. If you had managed to pass my test, then we could go through the actual ritual.”

I scoffed. “You think I’d trust you and go through with this, right after you tried to trap me?”

Cannibal looked nonchalant, but I could feel the frustration radiating from him.

“Well, the ritual involves your mate too. You’ll have to explain it to her and ask for her opinion—but hurry. The window to perform it is closing,” Cannibal finished, and the full ritual showed to me in my mind.

I analyzed the memories he showed me. It was indeed the correct ritual. Even so, I decided to explain the situation to Gael and ask her what she thought.

“So let me get this straight,” Gael said. “Cannibal here is a quarter Elder Dragon. He tested you by giving a fake ritual before handing over the real one, which now involves sacrificing three dragon eggs and my virginity as the binding to form a soul bond between me, you, Fenrir and Cannibal. This bond ensures we will be alive as long as you are alive. Even then we will all heal faster because you can share vitality along the bond and because your own ability.  And now you want my opinion on whether Cannibal is telling the truth or not?”

“Aye,” I replied without any humor. “I can feel that Cannibal’s being honest, but I wanted to ask you first because you’ll be directly affected. Any dragon you bond with in the future will die and won’t be ageless like us. Any children we have will age and die, even if they live long lives. I haven’t had time to go through all of Cannibal’s memories to see if there’s a way around this.”

 Gael thought for a moment before replying. “I think it’s safe to proceed. This isn’t a trap or a test—without this, even Cannibal will remain mortal.” Her voice faltered a bit when she spoke his name.

I nodded in agreement. “Cannibal, Gael is ready. Let’s do it. Also, I’ve looked through your true name as you told me on the first day, but it no longer matters. I’ve decided to name you Morghul—it means ‘death’—to remind myself how close I came to dying because of my arrogance and selfishness.”

“Name me whatever you want,” Morghul replied quickly. “Now draw the symbols and place the dragon eggs. Let’s begin.”

==============================

Hours Later

I stood at the distant shore, watching Aethan as he tried to warg into his birds to cross into the Isle of Faces. The ritual had ended an hour ago. Gael was asleep, resting deeply atop Fenrir, who acted as her bed. The ritual, and our coupling, had exhausted her completely.

“Thanks, Aethan,” I whispered. As always, it was your words that helped me when I needed them most. I was certain his warning was what kept me from falling into Morghul’s trap—and being killed by him afterward.

I closed my mind to examine the state of my bonds. I could feel the increased strain in my body as energy was drained from me to both Fenrir and Morghul. And now, slowly, a new connection was forming—with Gael. Her mind brushed mine, faint but growing.

I opened my eyes as I sensed Cannibal—no, Morghul—returning from his flight.

“Daemon,” Morghul said, “you’ll need to take it slow for the next moon’s turn. Your abilities need to grow again to support all three of us. Without your adaptation aspect, the ritual would’ve failed. And don’t bother checking for betrayal anymore. The words of the Soul Bond won’t allow it.”

I nodded. He was right. The oath spoken by me, Gael, and Morghul bound us too tightly for betrayal.

“Morghul, are you ready to venture into Essos?” I asked.

“All lands under the sky are the same to me, Daemon,” he replied casually. “We can go wherever you wish. I’m tired of staying in one place.”

“Good. I plan to travel soon. But first, a few things need to be done. I need to marry Gael, and then I must meet my grandfather. If I don’t, he might not be alive when we return. I just need to satisfy my curiosity.”

Morghul didn’t reply, but I felt his acknowledgment.

Peering through Fenrir’s senses, I saw that Gael was still fast asleep. She wouldn’t wake for at least another hour. That gave me just enough time to bring my friend here—to officiate the marriage.

===============

“Well, that’s a long story—and there’s no time for it now, Aethan. Come with me. I need an official to conduct my wedding to Princess Gael.”

Aethan was struck speechless, left gaping with his mouth wide open.

I grinned smugly. I always enjoyed catching him off guard. Without Aethan, I wouldn’t be here. No one else deserved to officiate the wedding more than him.

He finally nodded, still stunned, and looked toward the lake, clearly wondering how we’d cross it.

“Well, this is your golden opportunity, my brother,” I said with a smirk.

Just then, Morghul’s enormous form erupted from the far side of the lake. With a single leap and a beat of his wings, he glided across and landed beside us. Aethan’s jaw dropped even further.

“Daemon, what happened here? I can’t feel the dragon’s malice anymore. You both... you’ve changed.”

I grimaced. “Some things are better left unknown, my friend. Just know the world owes you a debt for being my friend—and I owe you even more. You can ask me for almost anything, and I’ll deliver it.”

Aethan bowed his head. “There’s nothing I need right now, Daemon. You’re my brother in all but blood, and more than that, a man of Winterfell. I’m proud to follow and serve you. Since your blessing, no one in the Neck has died of disease or poison—even in winter. I can’t ask for more.”

“Well, if you want nothing now, keep it in mind and ask later,” I said with a shrug. “Now come, let’s cross the lake. I’ll tell you the story of the bard and the princess.”

Aethan nodded happily, grinning teasingly at me, imagining the tale of  seducing a princess even while disguised as a bard. That grin lasted right up until he realized he had to climb onto Morghul’s back.

Then it was my turn to laugh loudly.  

============================

Authors Note: Now, you readers can decide whether gael forsee this fully or she gambled with what she knew.  Was daemon honeypotted  from the beginning or was it just luck that made gael stay alive and get rewarded so heavily…    entire time from start of the story the plan was this. Daemon going to sacrifice gael, but then backing out because of her love and him getting some more character development in caring for others…. 

The only thing added later as I was writing chapter 32 was cannibal’s trap/test attempt and it nicely added to my planned dragonlore was just cherry on the top. 

Chapter 38 : we will have the fated meeting between  grandson and the King!!!

Sorry for the long delay.. was entirely out of fanfic world and fully in my other pursuit of finding the right setup for trading and investing.   it even amazed me that I could just stop immediately reading even the Odds were never in my favour update by antony444, which I never do.  Whenever the update drops I just read it, but it took me 5-6 days to finish the latest 20k chapter because my mind was in my other pursuit. Similarly couldn’t find the start to write this and this dragged on…..    Going to concentrate entirely on fanfic world during the weekends and daily 1 hour to write. So expect the next chapter next Sunday.  

ADS 36

Chapter 36: The Great Council of 101 AC - II

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Moons later

The Rogue Prince

Daemon Targaryen cursed his bad luck as he shivered in the freezing cold, pressing himself as close as possible to the hot, scarred scales of Caraxes as they flew above the dreary North.

The snowbound lands possessed a certain haunting beauty—different from the Vale—but the cold was intolerable to him.

“The things I do to get my annulment... and for you, my king,” Daemon muttered harshly thinking about his grandfather.

His journey to the North had two purposes, both thanks to the idiotic Great Council. The clever fool, Maester Vaegon, had suggested to his father, the King, that they form a council to choose the next heir. That damned fool had said that even in Valyria, the Freehold faced fewer problems thanks to the Council of Forty, which voted on important matters—so the same should be done here.

Daemon had violently opposed the idea of granting foolish nobles any say over the blood of the dragon. But the Old King valued Vaegon’s words more—perhaps even enjoyed humiliating his ‘good son’ more than any harm by allowing a Great Council and the precedent it will create. 

Daemon still remembered the private meeting with his Grandfather.

-----------------------------------------------------

“Your Grace,” Daemon said, bowing his head slightly in a token gesture of courtesy as he greeted the King. That was as much he could get away with—and he’d already decided he would never follow such traditions when Viserys became king.

The old king stared at him harshly for a moment, then his gaze relaxed.

“Daemon, I hear you’re flying to Winterfell to convince them to vote for Viserys.”

Daemon’s eyes widened slightly. It was supposed to be a secret. He never dared ask how the king knew—but answered calmly.

“Yes, Your Grace. I am indeed going to Winterfell. I need to convince Aunt Viserra not to press her or her children’s claim—it would only further divide the votes meant for Viserys.”

“Clearly you know nothing of the Starks if you think that is all you need to do in Winterfell.” The King mocked.

Daemon grited his teeth. He hated being mocked more than anything—but he had to keep his composure before the King, especially now. 

“Anyway, I don’t care about that,” the king continued. “I have another errand for you in Winterfell. This is a letter for Lord Stark—one you will deliver personally. It carries the order of his king.”

Daemon frowned, curious. “And what is the order, if I may ask?”

“The order is that Daemon Snow is still officially exiled from ever stepping into the south of the Neck, and no one from the North is to raise his claim in the Great Council. Anyone who dares to do so will be considered a traitor to the Iron Throne.” The Old King said.

Daemon’s eyes widened in surprise before he scoffed in derision.

"What? You think Cregan Stark will come and raise his bastard cousin’s non-existent claim while his own wife and children have more chance of being chosen? I will, of course, follow your command, my king, but I don’t see the relevancy of it."

The Old King just smirked.

"See that you follow my commands and deliver it."

Daemon bowed and walked away, knowing he was dismissed.

Daemon had the letter secured, and he would follow the simple command when he reaches Winterfell.  He remembered the other meeting he had with his brother long before the meeting with the King.

"Daemon, be serious for once in your life," Viserys snapped at his mocking laughter.

"Don’t worry, brother dearest. Clearly, you will win the council and be the heir to the Iron Throne. The only support Corlys has is the damn Baratheons, and you have the Vale to compensate," Daemon finished with a frown. "The men of the Reach will never vote for a woman over men, and the Riverlands will follow both of you making it an non-entity in final decision making."

Viserys just sighed. "Be that as it may, we don’t want to take the chance. You must fly north and convince Aunt Viserra not to support Rhaenys. She was always close to Rhaenys, with all their giggling and secret meetings."

Daemon just scowled at the thought of such a long journey.

"So, brother, what about Viserra’s and her own children’s claim?" Daemon asked. "Don’t you think our vain aunt will be more likely to do that than support Rhaenys? No one is that ambitionless."

Daemon’s eyes widened as he registered Viserys’ surprise at the thought, making Daemon realise his foolish brother hadn’t even considered it.

"But," Viserys said with hesitation, "Cregan Stark had no interest in the South ever since he became Lord, and Starks usually have no interest in the Court. Why would they make this claim now?"

"Brother dearest, this is the Iron Throne we are talking about. It attracts even the greatest priests. Anyway, I’m not wasting my time and comfort on something that’s going to be entirely unnecessary. I can save both by being in the South, charming or threatening the fence-sitters as needed."

Viserys gaped at the audacity of his younger brother, which Daemon received with a smirk.

"Enough, Daemon," Viserys said with a sternness he tried to copy from their father. "Brother, we can’t leave things to chance. I need you to do this for me, so that I can be king, as desired by our grandfather and even our father. I need to be king to take better care of you, Aegon, and even my sweet Rhaenyra. Do this, and you will have my eternal gratitude—more than what you’ve earned from me till now, brother."

Daemon’s eyes gleamed as his thoughts immediately turned to an annulment from the Bronze Bitch. A reward like that would be perfect for him and the perfect way for Viserys to show his gratitude.

"I understand, brother. I’ll do the needful. Anything to get away from the Bronze Bitch," Daemon said with a grin.

Even Viserys grinned and only tried to chastise him half-heartedly for insulting one’s lawful lady wife.

===================================

Winterfell

Daemon Targaryen was enraged beyond measure as he snarled and jumped to his feet again from the muddy training yard. The Stark men cheered for their Lord, Cregan Stark, and Daemon gritted his teeth in pure frustration. To his dismay, he even heard some men cheering for him, not out of respect, but because he bore the name of their gods-blessed Daemon Snow.  Daemon really wished he could just bash the idiot’s face in when he heard, of course the prince is talented, how could he not when he is named Daemon.  It really got on his nerves that the respect he deserved alone was being projected to his bastard cousin just because he is named Daemon. 

Daemon drew harsh breaths, his hand tightening around Dark Sister’s hilt as he dropped into a guarded stance.  He swallowed his anger at the approving nod Cregan gave, just before the older man raised Ice into an attacking position.

Intellectually, Daemon knew he had nothing to be ashamed of. The grudging respect the warriors had for him now was proof enough. He had held his own against a man seven years his senior, a man with experience from two wars—while Daemon himself had only fought in training matches and against a few scattered bandits.

But ever since his father explained the advantages of Valyrian steel and made him bond with Dark Sister, he had been in an entirely different level. His already considerable skill had increased drastically, and he had been unbeaten in the yard when he had Dark Sister in his hand—until Winterfell.

Daemon’s pride wouldn’t allow him to admit defeat. Clearly, the Starks retained the supposedly lost secret, he thought bitterly, as he parried the greatsword Ice.

No one without the bond could wield that sword so fluidly and casually, Daemon thought, watching as Cregan attacked with relentless precision.

 Grudgingly, he had to admit: Cregan wasn’t just good—he was one of the best swordsmen Daemon had ever seen. The sheer speed and strength is something that Daemon has only seen in select few before.

For a moment, Daemon lost focus, distracted by a chilling thought—if the so-called ‘Red Death’ was even better with a blade than this “discount version,” what kind of monster would he be?

That lapse cost him. The smoky tip of Ice stopped just short of his throat. Daemon glared, then sighed, before muttering:

“I yield.”

The tension in his coiled muscles relaxed slightly as he stepped off the field. He made his way to the man who held the sheath of Dark Sister—an older warrior who had openly scoffed at being tasked with carrying it. But now, the man looked at him with respect. And slight fear.

Good, Daemon thought with satisfaction. The sheep has learned I’m not some pompous fool. I’m one of the best with a blade in hand.

Even so, a sliver of unease crept into his mind. How much of it is the blade? How much is truly my skill? he wondered morbidly.

Daemon sheathed Dark Sister and secured it to his waist. He sighed tiredly as he spotted the mocking grin of his aunt, Viserra, approaching with Cregan beside her.

They stopped before him, and a soft laugh escaped her lips.

“I told you, nephew, my husband is the best. You should practice again while you still have the chance,” Viserra said. Daemon blinked, caught off-guard by the sincerity in her voice. There was teasing, yes, but the kind that came from family—not contempt.

“Aye,” Daemon said with a small nod. “You are correct in this, dear aunt. It seems I must hone my skills against true Valyrian steel-wielding warriors after all.” He said it pointedly, eyes locked on Cregan, searching for any sign that he’d speak of the secret they both shared.

“Prince Daemon,” Cregan said, stepping forward. “Come with us to the private dining room. Let us finalize the discussion you came here for. Perhaps the spar has calmed your youthful temper enough.”

Daemon frowned, but said nothing. He merely nodded.

==============================================

Daemon ate in silence, making occasional small talk with his aunt and her husband. The thought that was bothering him was the food and drinks. It was delicious, but that was not the matter. For some reason, Daemon could feel the energy filling him and the tiredness vanishing.  For the life of him he couldn’t see what made it possible to have such effect.

Then Viserra spoke, her tone light but probing. “So, nephew—you’ve come to convince us to vote for Viserys and as the king’s messenger as he ordered. A very... interesting order, isn’t it, husband of mine?”

“That it is,” Cregan muttered, frowning.

Daemon shrugged. “It is the king’s will. I didn’t even see the need for that order, not when I’m more concerned about your claim, Aunt. You must support Viserys, and not dilute the votes further.”

Viserra smirked. “Dearest nephew, it seems you still have much to learn. My father was wise to issue that order. If Daemon Snow wants to win, he could. Easily. This farce of a Great Council wouldn’t stop him.”

Daemon’s face twisted at the mention of the name Daemon, and he was sure neither of the Starks missed it.

“Oh?” Viserra continued. “Still not fond of your name, are you?” Both Starks chuckled softly. “You’re still that little boy who threw the legendary temper tantrum of 90 AC somewhere inside, nephew,” Viserra said warmly.

Anger overtook Daemon, making him hit the table hardly with his hand and he snapped while still looking at the table. “Enough. I will not be mocked. I am Daemon Targaryen, rider of Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, and a trueborn prince of the blood. That bastard should be grateful he shares my name—a name I was given in honor of Uncle Aemon, not his bastard son.”

He turned to glare at them both.

“And you think Daemon Snow has any chance of winning the Great Council? I thought you were clever. And you—Aunt—I believed you ambitious enough to claim the title of queen, as you have even tried to seduce my father for it, when he was mourning my mother, your own elder sister.” 

Viserra just scoffed. “And here I thought you were clever enough to see through the delusions of my dear mother.  Please tell me Daemon how in the gods name would I be queen when Aemon was alive with Rhaenys as his heiress when I tried that foolishness to escape the fat Manderly.”

Even before Daemon could form his reply, Cregan interrupted.

“Boy, we’re having this conversation in Winterfell because of Daemon Snow. Your father came to me, begging for a way to save your younger brother. He offered anything. In return, I asked for a royal marriage.”

He leaned forward.

“Don’t think Daemon won’t do it again. He’ll bargain with other lords too. Everyone will beg for his healing, and he can prove it, right in front of them.”

Daemon was struck silent. He hadn’t considered that.

Viserra said, voice gentler now. “And you have nothing to worry about, nephew.  And I mean nothing. As long as my father, King Jaehaerys, lives—Corlys Velaryon will never come near the Iron Throne. He won’t win, even if he bribes or charms every other lord. He’ll lose, because the Council is rigged from the start. The king’s will shall prevail.”

She grinned mischievously.

“If it weren’t, I might have tried to convince my husband to vote for Rhaenys—just to needle Father. Also, if the king could meddle in the result, then Daemon could easily infiltrate and change the name to his own from Prince Viserys, if Daemon’s claim is raised. The king is clever enough to not even give a chance for that.”  

Daemon was silent as he processed the matter.

“You believe my brother’s victory is secured. That this is all just a show to embarrass the king’s son-in-law. And you truly think that my bastard cousin can convince the Faith-loving Andals of the virtues of magic?” Daemon scoffed.

Cregan just smiled. “Everyone has a price, nephew. Even you. If Daemon came to you offering to save your father in exchange for Dark Sister... would you covet the blade—or your father?”

Daemon’s eyes widened with realization.

“Exactly,” Cregan said quietly. “My brother is exceptional at getting what he wants by manipulation.”

Daemon said nothing.

Then, with his Stark mask firmly in place, Cregan stood.

“Prince Daemon, here is the North’s answer. The North bows to House Stark, and House Stark answers to King Jaehaerys Targaryen. We will continue to bow to him and to his chosen heir, whoever it may be. The North will abstain from wasting coin and time by coming to Harrenhal—since the candidate we favor is not even permitted to raise his name.”

Daemon could see that even Viserra looked surprised by how rebellious that sounded.

Daemon stared at them, wary. “The king has summoned every lord to Harrenhal to make their claim and vote for his heir. You’re the Lord Paramount of the North—and you’re ignoring the summons? There is pride, and then there is foolishness.”

Cregan didn’t flinch. “You need not worry, my prince. I’ll send one of my bannermen as representative to present these terms to His Grace. He is pragmatic enough that he will understand—the North is full of summer snows, and the roads are perilous, after all.”

=====================================

Daemon Targaryen groaned in frustration as he walked through the trees near where Caraxes was roosting. He needed a flight to clear his head after the meeting with the Starks.

"I can’t believe Viserys actually buried her ambition and chose to follow Cregan’s lead," Daemon muttered.

His thoughts were interrupted by a melodic sound of singing, coming from where he could sense Caraxes. He was already annoyed that he would likely have to explain the death of some foolish nobody at Caraxes' hands. But to his surprise, through the bond, he could only feel peace and melancholy instead of anger and agitation.

Now more curious than ever, he quickened his pace and stepped into the clearing. A figure was standing beside Caraxes, singing and gently scratching the dragon’s scales. The figure was clearly female, with wide hips and waist-length hair.

“Enough,” Daemon snapped. “Do you have a death wish, lady—whoever you are? It's just luck that Caraxes is in a good mood and didn’t kill you on sight.”

The girl turned around, stopping her singing, and Daemon’s anger gave way to curiosity. She had the inhuman beauty often attributed to Valyrian blood, but he frowned upon seeing the absence of the traditional Valyrian features.

So, this is the vaunted Lady Lyanna Mormont, Daemon thought, his gaze lingering on the bear-shaped pommel of the sword at her waist.

His irritation returned when he saw the disgust on Lyanna’s face.

“Not the Daemon I wanted to see,” Lyanna retorted. “And your bond with Caraxes clearly isn’t efficient if you couldn’t feel how calm he was the entire time.”

Daemon frowned, and Lyanna’s eyes widened slightly in realisation.

“Ah, you were just bluffing—to scare me, not knowing Caraxes wouldn’t attack me on his own. I’m glad that at least the sorrow of losing Grandfather Aemon helped you two bond and soothe both of your grief.”

Daemon stayed silent as buried feelings about Aemon surfaced for a moment.

“Whatever,” he said with a shrug. “Now leave. I need my flight, and I have better things to do than entertain a foolish girl who doesn’t recognise danger.” He gripped the hilt of Dark Sister tightly.

Lyanna scoffed and glanced around. “I don’t see any danger, Prince Daemon. I saw my uncle Cregan hand you your defeat—and I could beat him now if I wanted to. Only your namesake could stand a chance against me now.”

Daemon’s hand became whiter by the force he was holding Dark sister with.

“Listen closely, you bear bitch.” Daemon snapped. “I’m not named after some bastard Snow. I’m named after my uncle Aemon, by my royal father, who loved him dearly. Caraxes may not attack you on his own, but he’ll obey my command. Now apologize and crawl back to Winterfell or whatever cave you call home.”

Daemon's anger only grew as Lyanna smirked and then burst into outright mocking laughter.

“I can’t believe Uncle Cregan’s stories of your tantrums in 90 AC were true. You really do hate that you’re named after my father. You’re still a tantrum-throwing ten-year-old too arrogant to recognize danger. Look to your left, Prince Daemon. If you dare say 'dracarys,' you’ll be dead before you can finish the word.” Lyanna said after stifling the laughter.

Daemon scoffed and looked left between the trees—then his breath caught in his throat.

Standing between the trees was a direwolf. He had thought the white one that followed Prince Rickon was the largest, nearly horse-sized with a commanding presence. But the black one before him was something else entirely. It was twice the size of a fully grown horse, and Daemon’s head barely reached halfway up its leg. Yet it wasn’t the size that terrified him—it was the intelligence and power in its green eyes, akin to a dragon’s aura.

“Monster,” he whispered. His panic eased only when Caraxes growled and projected protectiveness through their bond.

Daemon swallowed his fear and forced a scoff. After all, he had an image to maintain. 

“And what’s your point? You stand near Caraxes. Whatever that wolf’s size, its fur will burn—and so will you.”

Lyanna grinned smugly. “You’re wrong, Prince Daemon. Fenrir’s fur doesn’t burn fast enough to die by dragonfire. My father trained his familiar to resist heat and flame. But that doesn’t matter, because you’d be dead before any of that could happen. And I’m fast enough to dodge the first strike of Caraxes while my familiar defends me.” 

Daemon glanced around again and spotted a large cave bear lounging on Caraxes’ other side. It became clear that Lyanna hadn’t approached the volatile blood wyrm without a plan. She had two monsters flanking Caraxes to cover her escape—or possibly even to attack, if she is mad enough—if the dragon lashed out after being bonded to a new rider.

“You’re unburnt,” Daemon said with certainty. “You know dragons attack with fire almost all the time. You’re betting on your resistance, and your beasts distracting him while you escape.”

 “So, there is a clever mind in there somewhere. That contingency did cross my mind when I approached Caraxes to reminisce our lost one, but I was confident it wouldn’t come to that. I have a way with all beasts—even dragons.”  Lyanna said with clear pride in her talent.

Daemon let that pass. “You may not have inherited our colourings, but you certainly have our pride and arrogance,” he said dryly.

It did feel good to have a war of words with someone who is truly unafraid of him.  There was no one truly equal to him back home who could keep up with him or the select few who could are afraid of him.  Viserys don’t consider him equal, due to being the elder brother, same with the king and queen and Aegon feared him due to lack of skill and a dragon. Everyone else was worthless and not deserving his time or words.  

“I’m surprised you can compliment anyone, Prince Daemon,” Lyanna said, the emphasis on Daemon was not lost on him. Daemon ignored her tone for now as it seems to be pointless to argue further.

“What frustrated you enough to take a flight? I thought Uncle Cregan was past his needling nieces and nephews’ stage.” Lyanna asked.

“I came to get the North’s support for Viserys. But it’s a lost cause. Cregan said that the North will abstain because the King forbade raising your bastard father’s name even as a claimant at the council.” Daemon tried to mimic the same tone lyanna used for saying Daemon, when he said bastard.

Lyanna’s eyes widened in surprise and there was an approving gleam along with mirth in her eyes. 

“Well, well, this is interesting. Prince Daemon you should know that the word 'bastard' means nothing to my father. You should also be glad that my father has no interest in the Iron Throne currently. Because if he did, he’d take it in a way that would silence the Faith and all their bastardry nonsense.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What mysterious method would that be? No one can stop tongues from wagging, not even your supposedly god-blessed father.”

“It is easy, Daemon. My father would claim the Seven Kingdoms the same way the first Aegon did—a conquest. Not by inheritance or handed down by some stupid laws of men or even votes.” Lyanna said simply, as if it was a fact that couldn’t be proven wrong, no matter what. 

Daemon just scoffed for a second and then laughed hard. 

“No single man can conquer an entire kingdom, let alone defeat dragonriders,” Daemon mocked.

Lyanna just smirked. “Well, I never said how my father will do it. You see, when I was little, my father had told me to never interrupt an enemy from doing stupid things. He also seems to have a good opinion on how the current king came to power. The king waited long enough that the realms begged for him to ascend the throne—a throne that was vehemently denied to Maegor by the masses and the Valyrian ways by the Faith and the Andals. He even managed to assassinate Maegor at the right time and then manipulated his supposed friend, Septon Barth, to negotiate his Doctrine of Exceptionalism so the king could marry his Sister which was the supposed reason for the Faith’s Rebellion.”

“My father taught me that if I want to follow anyone from the Valyrian side, then it should be the current king, at least in some matters. I’m sure he’s taught the same to Cregan too. And now, what is Uncle Cregan and my father doing? He’s staying out of the conflict that could escalate to open war. He has nothing to gain by siding with one side and everything to gain if the war happens naturally.”

Daemon was silent as he processed the information. “I’m glad that someone recognized the folly in our history. I too suspected foul play in the end of Maegor—and wondered why he didn’t just take Balerion and torch Storm’s End. Also, I’m glad to disappoint you and Cregan. There will be no open war, and the end will be this Great Council. My cousin is not stupid enough to fight when she has no majority support.”

“Well, let’s hope that stays that way then, my prince. Now I will be out of your way and your path to relaxation,” Lyanna said with finality.

 “I actually enjoyed this, and I wonder whether you would be just as good in the yard or even under the sheets.” Daemon said with a smug smile

“Well, I can always show how good I am in the yard and then you can always wonder how good I’d be in bed while you bed third-rate whores of Silk Street in King’s Landing.”

Daemon just laughed as he watched the girl walk into the shadows of the trees.

===================================

Harrenhall

Aethan Reed

He ignored the entire array of nobles gathered along the sidelines of the great hall of Harrenhal and focused solely on the Old King seated atop the throne. He was the only man sitting in the vast chamber. Aethan could see a faint resemblance to Daemon in the king’s face, but what stood out most between grandfather and grandson were their eyes. They shared the same cleverness, the same mockery in their gaze— as if they alone understood the punchline of some private joke. Aethan wondered whether the Old King would have the same expression in his eyes if he knew his grandson had tamed the Cannibal.

Aethan had personally visited Cregan in the dreamscape and asked for permission to serve as the representative sent by Winterfell. Though Cregan had been surprised by the request, he had granted Aethan permission to carry the message and speak on the North’s behalf.

Aethan kneeled before the king, as tradition demanded.

“Rise, Lord Reed,” the Old King commanded, and Aethan was surprised by the sheer strength that still echoed in the frail frame.

“Now, where are the rest of the Northern Lords and where are my son-in-law and daughter?”

“Your Grace,” Aethan began respectfully, “Lord Cregan Stark has tasked me to be his representative and convey his message both in letter and in word. His words are as follows:

‘The North follows the Starks of Winterfell, and the Starks follow House Targaryen. I, Lord Cregan Stark, am the loyal Lord Paramount of His Grace, King Jaehaerys Targaryen. Though House Stark could not name its preferred heir, it shall willingly follow whomever His Grace, King Jaehaerys Targaryen, names as his heir. The other Northern houses could not attend this meeting due to the roads being blocked by a summer snowstorm. I am also glad to inform Your Grace that by the time these words reach you, another prince or princess of Winterfell shall have been born. Lord Aethan Reed shall represent the entire North in the discussions and observe the voting.’”

Murmurs rippled through the hall as the gathered lords whispered among themselves, some in shock, others in disdain.

The king remained silent, lost in thought.

“So,” the Old King finally spoke, voice heavy with accusation, “the Starks want no voice in the matters of the Seven Kingdoms? Or do they still prefer to think themselves Kings in all but name, paying only homage and taxes?” His tone turned sharper. “Perhaps I should drag them here by declaring Viserra or even Prince Rickon as my heir. What would Cregan do then? Would he reject that too?”

The murmurs grew louder, until the guards began striking their spears against the floor, silencing the room at a signal from the Kingsguard.

“My king,” he said steadily, “Lord Cregan shall follow your command and uphold his sworn duty, no matter what. If you declare Princess Viserra as your heiress, or even young Prince Rickon Stark in your wisdom, Lord Cregan will follow it, by his oath. The king commands, and we obey gladly, Your Grace, even in the matters of succession, that has been tradition for millennia.”

The Old King remained silent causing the tension to rise, before breaking it by clear command.

“The vote must be held and couldn’t be delayed anymore for explicit summons. If my daughter prefers to be Lady of Winterfell over the Queen then I will gladly allow that wish. Atleast one of the Lords who married princesses knew to control their ambition and be satisfied by their rightful place.  Lord Reed, you are allowed to observe and then make the oath to my heir after the vote on behalf of Winterfell. Since Lord Cregan didn’t bother with coming himself, The North will have no voice to talk in the upcoming discussions or even vote. You all are dismissed.”

Aethan bowed and sighed in relief as there is no overt punishment.

Maybe the rumours of The Old King being weak in his old age and with the death of Prince Baelon is actually true.  Aethan thought as he walked out of the hall while ignoring the glares from majority of the Andal Lords.

=========================================

3 weeks Later

Shores of God’s Eye.

Aethan looked at the distant shore of the Isle of Faces with growing worry. This was the true reason he had asked Cregan to send him. After his meeting with Daemon in the Neck, his unease had only deepened, and the nightmares that followed became increasingly dreadful. All of them ended the same way—showing the Isle of Faces. Aethan had taken it as a message from the Old Gods, urging him to go there.

After arriving at Harrenhal, he had tried to keep an eye on the Isle through his warged animals, but the connection would always break the moment they crossed into the island’s borders. Only the patience he had developed over the years dealing with Daemon’s antics from a young age allowed him to stay put for two whole weeks at Harrenhal, observing the Great Council. He had felt a sense of relief when it finally ended and Viserys was declared heir. Still, it took another three days for the king and the other lords to depart before Aethan could slip away.

That was four days ago.

Two days ago, Aethan had seen Cannibal descending onto the Isle of Faces through one of his birds. He had tried multiple ways to cross the waters, but the winds and waves made it impossible. Aethan knew Daemon was there—with a girl—and nothing good would come of Now, with his eyes closed, Aethan focused all his concentration on maintaining the connection to a single bird as it crossed into the Isle’s boundary. But, as always, he was forcefully ejected from the bird’s mind. The sharp pain of the backlash was just beginning to register when Daemon’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Aethan.”

Aethan immediately opened his eyes and scrutinized Daemon. His friend looked inhumanly beautiful as ever, but there was something different in his eyes and his stance. Aethan, who knew Daemon better than anyone, could see it: a weight that had long burdened Daemon’s shoulders was gone. Usually, those heterochromatic eyes gleamed with mischief and camaraderie. Now, they gleamed with something deeper—brotherly love.

“Daemon. You’ve changed again. What happened?” Aethan asked warily.

Daemon only grinned in response. “Well, that’s a long story—and there’s no time for it now, Aethan. Come with me. I need an official to conduct my wedding to Princess Gael.”

Aethan was struck speechless, left gaping with his mouth wide open.

=======================================

Authors note :  finally the chapter is done and I could get time to sit infront of laptop to edit.  Atleast the next chapter should be faster.  

Daemon and lyanna scene came out of nowhere for even me…  never planned on this meeting, but when thinking about rouge prince in winterfell, the thought hit me and my imagination went wild enough that I was thinking whether I should pair them.   what is your opinion on that pairing if it happens……   also there is a reason for having so much rogue prince pov chapters at this stage while not changing the overall canon events..   you will see why very very soon. 

So aethan is going to be present in gods eye in next chapter and what do you think will happen?  Will aethan witness actual marriage or a murder or both?  

See you all in chapter 37: The Ritual (tenatative).  

ADS 35

Chapter 35: The Great Council of 101 AC - I

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

100 AC

King’s Landing

Daemon Snow                       

I sighed in tiredness as I walked out of Princess Gael’s chambers and slipped into the secret passage I had entered from. It had been two years since the tourney, and I had continued meeting Gael as often as possible. She, too, had shown great enthusiasm for our meetings. But now, it had become almost a chore not to fuck her—especially since she did everything within her power to make it happen.

For the past three moons, I had created a distraction by sneaking her through the secret pathways into the city proper to explore taverns and alleyways. I was not the canon Rogue Prince who paraded a princess around for all to see. My own disguise was good enough that no one recognized Princess Gael. The three unfortunate souls who did realize they’d seen a Targaryen never got the chance to speak—they only met the Stranger.

I reached the entrance to the city and opened the hidden door without caution. My warg network in King’s Landing had developed enough to act as a radar. The animals had grown more intelligent through my influence, and they knew to tug on our bond if anyone approached my position when I am in a place where I shouldn’t be.  Also the movies are correct in the sense that no one looks above, especially in the darkness of the Red Keep.  

I had tried to keep an eye on Baelon to see whether he was poisoned in 100 AC. But he kept finding and killing the animals I sent near him, which made me withdraw my resources. I would have to rely on greenseeing to confirm whether the fanon theory about Baelon’s death being unnatural was true.

I returned to my hired room, lay down on the bed, and closed my eyes, letting my mind wander. It reached Cannibal first—he was napping on Dragonstone. Then it reached Fenrir, who was hunting in the Wolfswood. Finally, I turned my attention to the animals I had left with my children scattered across the continent.

All seemed well in the South—they were thriving. I felt a rare moment of contentment… until I glanced North. My heart skipped a beat. Over half of the animals were near Wintertown—or worse, inside Winterfell itself.

"What the fuck are my children doing in Winterfell when I left them among the smallfolk?" I hissed. It didn’t even take greenseeing to confirm the truth.

Cregan Stark.

I sighed again in exasperation. ‘Fucking hell, Cregan. The only question is whether you did it to gain powerful underlings or out of love for your bloodline. Whatever the reason, it’s fucking with my plans.’

I was sorely tempted to resolve the matter through greendreams and avoid the trip to Winterfell altogether—but then I snorted.

‘Well, Cannibal has been complaining about the lack of flying and my companionship. Might as well make the most of it. Besides, I definitely need to be away when Baelon falls ill and dies. No way I’m getting implicated later by not offering my method of healing him.’

=============================

The next day

I hissed in pleasure as I reached my release. I won’t lie—I’m going to miss Gael in the coming moons while I’m away from King’s Landing and even after her death. It surprised me that I actually have to use my control aspect of my abilities to not fall in love with her.      

With an exaggerated sound of a kiss, Gael let go of my cock and slid up my body to rest on my chest, cuddling close. We lay there in quiet intimacy, and I realized I had to break the news now—otherwise I wouldn’t be able to say it at all.

“Gael,” I whispered.

“Mmm?” she murmured sensually.

“This will be our last time together for the foreseeable future. I’m leaving King’s Landing for several moons to prepare for our marriage.”

Gael immediately protested at the idea of me leaving, but she brightened at the mention of marriage.

“When will you return, my love?” she asked, sorrowful but hopeful.

“I’ll be back after several moons. Don’t worry, my dear. See that eagle?” I pointed to the bird perched on the windowsill. “It will carry our messages. You can write to me anytime, and I’ll reply.” I said to gave her something. 

Gael looked pleased—for a moment—before her expression shifted into one of sharp irritation.

Being clever, I ignored the shift in her mood and closed my eyes to let it pass.

She scoffed. “Is that it, Jon?”

My eyes snapped open at the mocking tone when she called me Jon.

“Gael?” I asked cautiously.

“Even when you're about to leave me—for who knows how long or where—you’re still pretending to be Jon Snow? You’re not even going to tell me your real name, nephew of mine?” she asked with a mocking smile.

My body tensed for a moment before I forcefully relaxed and laughed. After a few moments of her annoyed silence, my laughter subsided and I grinned.  I know I could react seriously and lead to unplanned areas, but knowing Gael so well, I decided to laugh the matter off as if it is actually irrelevant. 

“Well, they say all the world’s a stage, and we are merely characters. I could certainly be a Jon Snow.”   

“Don’t grin like you’re the only one who knows the joke and others just fools.” she snapped.

“Nothing like that, my dearest aunt. I am Daemon Snow,” I said simply.

She waited, expecting more titles or a grand reveal. But seeing my amused smile and lack of elaboration, she sighed. “That’s it? No birthplace, no parentage? No grandiose tiles of declaration? I was expecting at least the ‘Red Death’.”

I shrugged. “Names mean little to me now. I can achieve anything with just my presence and talent. Just like I acquired you, my love.” I smirked.

Gael scoffed. “Oh? Is that so? Well, I know something only a Targaryen name can grant—dragons.”

This time I actually burst out laughing naturally. There was no need for acting. “Really? I don’t see any dragons bonded to you, my love.”

Gael’s smirk turned to a frown. “Blame my mother for her overprotectiveness.”

I simply smiled knowingly. Silence fell between us as she fidgeted on my chest.

“You’re not going to ask when or how I found out?” she asked, curiosity clear.

I shrugged. “I already knew you were intelligent, my love. It doesn’t matter when you realized. Your rapid improvement in health, strength, and magical ability would have told you enough. There is no one else in this lands who could perform such healing and thus you concluded that I was Daemon Snow. As I said, names are meaningless for us and you fell in love with a bard. It doesn’t matter I have some other qualities too. All that matters I that you love me, and I will marry you.”

“Oh… that’s good,” Gael said. “So, where will you arrange our marriage?”

I hesitated, then decided the truth was enough.

“I want to marry you at the Isle of Faces, in the God’s Eye. I need to prepare it. Also, I must visit Winterfell to deal with Cregan.”

Gael hesitated. “Are you ready to face Silverwing when we elope?”

“Don’t worry, my love. By that time, even Vhagar will hesitate before trying to stop us,” I said with such conviction that no doubt remained.

Gael nodded, believing me.

We lay together, cuddling. For once, I didn’t leave before falling asleep beside her.

======================

The North

I was strapped to one of Cannibal’s horns—still no saddle—and we flew high above the clouds, higher than any Dragonlord had dared. The cold and the thin air didn’t bother me. We crossed Westeros in a single day, stopping only once. I wondered how much of that speed was Cannibal’s power, how much was our bonded enhancement, and how much came from mastering air currents.

I had summoned Cannibal to an abandoned cliffside far from King’s Landing, and he had arrived just as I did. There was no grand greeting—just silent acknowledgment. He was pleased we were flying again, though grumbled when I told him we were heading North. Still, he encouraged me to perform the ritual with Gael next year.

We landed inside the Wolfswood, and I used my animals to orient myself in relation to Winterfell. Cannibal flew off to hide and rest while I ran the rest of the way.

=========================

I was silent as I entered the godswood, spotting Cregan before the heart tree. I hadn’t even reached him before he called out.

“Daemon, truly a surprise to see you here and now,” Cregan said with genuine joy.

“Brother,” I acknowledged. “You look like a proper Lord of Winterfell after all this time.”

Cregan smiled warmly. “Now, let’s get to the point. What the fuck are you doing, Cregan? Why are half the children I left behind now in Winterfell or nearby?” I finished harshly.

Cregan’s eyes widened briefly before his expression settled into the Stark mask.

“I did wonder if you were watching them. Seems it was more than that. You left children with potential scattered among our bannermen’s muster of men. Their potential is unknown—and I can’t risk any of them surpassing you. I want Winterfell to have an advantage. Besides, they’re my blood. It’s my duty to protect them, a duty you seem to neglect. So, I stepped in, just like my grandfather stepped in for you.”

I immediately snorted, “I don’t see anyone living in the family quarters, having a lord’s education or even having noble training. You can sell the loving family man to your subjects, not to the person who taught you everything.   

Cregan remained silent and his face didn’t betray anything.

I studied him—searching for the line between truth and manipulation. At least I was proud he had embraced my lessons: pragmatism and selfishness hidden beneath a cloak of benevolence that others will praise you for. I understood why cregan did it. He wanted the Stark Men to be extra ordinary before any of his bannerman.   

“Well, be satisfied with what you have. No more are to be brought in. I left them among the smallfolk for a reason, Cregan. I need the collective strength of men to rise—and that takes generations. Only my blood spreading through them will bring the results we need.”

Cregan looked confused for a moment before realization struck him.

“You’re preparing for the Second Long Night,” he whispered.

I nodded. “Aye, brother. The dead have had eight thousand years to collect corpses—human, animal, and worse. Their numbers will be immense. Humanity will need strength to survive. The humans need to be just more than how they are now.”

Cregan just looked horrified at the full possibility of the matter.  “And it won’t happen in my lifetime, will it?” He asked sadly.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “By my estimates, we have nearly two more centuries. But with my meddling? Who knows. That’s why I haven’t done more beyond the Wall, aside from wiping out some wildling filth and collecting direwolves and mammoths.”

“They’ve been a godsend,” Cregan admitted. “Tamed mammoths have revolutionized transporting wood, one of our major trade as of now.”

I waved off the praise. “How’s Rickon?”

Cregan smiled fondly. “Doing well. Old Nan says he’s more developed than any child in recent generations. Your plan is working. And… I’ll stop recruiting your bastards, Daemon. If it’s essential, I’ll leave it be.”

I sighed in relief. No need to argue further. We discussed several matters, and I prepared to return to Cannibal. I didn’t want word of my presence in Winterfell reaching anyone—I was supposed to be in Essos.

“You’re leaving without seeing Lyanna?” Cregan asked. “She misses you. She’s angrier every day. Lady Mormont gifting her Longclaw hasn’t helped—she’s nearly unbeatable in the yard. Only I can best her now.”

I grinned with pride. “Then you keep improving quickly, brother, or even you will fall. But I can’t see her—it would delay me too much.”

Cregan nodded in understanding.

I was nearly out of the clearing when Cregan called out again.

“Daemon, I just remembered. Aethan had come here one moon ago in worry. I’ve never seen him so unhinged. He was asking whether you have contacted or not and he couldn’t contact you using green-dreams because of your own stupid mind defences.  I suggest you stop at Greywater Watch on your run back.   

I just looked back slightly and with a shrug I left, neither confirming nor rejecting the advice.   

The Neck.

I was flying back on Cannibal, and when you are alone, seeing the snow-filled land, your mind wanders. I was thinking about the time I spent with my dear friend and how much time had passed since I had seen him directly.

Even though I had no plan to stop—especially after Cregan's warning about Aethan—when I reached the start of the Neck, nostalgia and even some form of dread hit me, as if I would be committing a mistake if I didn’t visit my friend Aethan.

I thought about it. I hadn’t revealed to anyone that I had claimed Cannibal, and what better person to start with than my best friend Aethan Reed—the one person who knows me the most and supports me no matter what I do. I decided that he deserves to see the truth first, before hearing or seeing it from other sources.

I directed a thought to Cannibal, and he grumbled but flew over to the place I indicated.

It was a weirwood clearing deep in the Neck that only bird-wargs could find and reach. It was the only place in the Neck where a dragon could land without anyone normal knowing. I had no doubt about the loyalty of the wargs of the Neck, as they would remain silent if they saw me and only inform their Lord Aethan Reed.

Cannibal landed in the clearing, and I jumped down from his back with a somersault after removing the rope binding me to him. I didn’t have a saddle because there was no way to build one without someone discovering the truth.

I landed on the ground and decided to spend the night there, as I knew Aethan would come during the night—he must have known of my presence by now.

================================

I woke up from my nap as I could hear the almost silent steps.

“Cannibal, don’t bother with him. It is my dearest friend,” I said to Cannibal through the bond. Cannibal didn’t acknowledge my message at all but continued his nap, reassured by my words.

I walked towards the middle, and I saw the open eyes of Aethan Reed, who stood frozen, surprised to see the dragon lying in the clearing. His eyes finally found mine, and I could see relief and some weariness in them as he observed me. I ignored the close scrutiny and I walked forward as Aethan remained frozen and didn’t move.

I reached near him, and with a hearty laugh, Aethan shook of the wariness as he stepped forward two steps and hugged me.

“Daemon, I’m so glad you stopped here to see me, my friend,” Aethan said. He completely ignored Cannibal and didn’t even ask anything about him. I frowned at his apparent happiness because, as far as I knew, there was no trouble in the Neck and nothing dangerous happening in the North. The feeling I get from his words was that my visit is gonna prevent something horrible or I am going to save someone Aethan loves, not the happiness of seeing an old friend.

“Come on, Aethan. What is the problem that I don’t know about? And you haven’t even said a single word about me claiming the unclaimable Cannibal. You knew it was one of my goals for decades, and here I am informing you first about claiming a dragon, and you ignore the dragon in the room.”

Aethan laughed at that. “I had no doubt about you accomplishing this, Daemon. You are a walking impossibility. What surprises me is you,” he finished with an eerie voice, no mirth or laughter. Even I was affected by Aethan’s mercurial mood change as the laughter vanished. 

“Me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “What about me, Aethan? I’m the same Daemon you last saw before I ventured south. Just a Dragon-lord and more powerful—that’s the only difference.” I finished with my usual arrogant, boastful laugh that had been perfected between us friends.

Aethan frowned. “For moons, I’ve been having a nightmare, Daemon. A nightmare about you. I was worried sick about your life.”

Aethan snapped as he saw me laughing at that. “It’s not a laughing matter, Daemon. But now, seeing you, I wonder if I had misread the nightmares entirely.”

My entire mirth vanished, as I knew to take any threat to my life very seriously.

“Threat to my life, Aethan? Unless I venture beyond the Wall like a fool or challenge the Red Demon, there is nothing that truly threatens me—especially with Cannibal with me. I’m safer than ever.”

Aethan sighed tiredly. “You misunderstand me, Daemon. I wasn’t saying the nightmare was a warning to your life, but a warning about you. Now, seeing you, I’m almost sure of it. You’ve changed drastically. You can mask your presence in your charismatic self all you want, but you feel inhuman to my senses, Daemon. My mind is constantly seeing a predator and planning how to fight or flee from you. Before, even with all your inhuman feats, you always felt the most humane of all of us—because of your behavior and attitude. Now… there’s something wrong in you, Daemon.”

I was struck silent by the words of my oldest and most trusted friend. I was angered, of course, but I was mature enough to take Aethan’s words seriously. I trust his loyalty to me and how much he wishes the best for me. So even though his words hurt more than anything else, I remained silent. I wanted to deny them—but for the last six to seven years, my life had been an act of lies to achieve my goals. And even in that, I spend two years almost in the presence of dragons or healing from most gruesome wounds and damages my body ever dealt with. It was years of violence, selfish killings and plans of dominating an  Apex Predator like Cannibal.  It was necessary… but who knows how much it changed me?

“Aethan? What are you really worried about?” I asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know, Daemon, and that’s killing me. Maybe it’s the cannibalistic kin-slaying dragon you tamed that changed you, Daemon. Even now, while it’s sleeping there, I can feel the maliciousness oozing out of it. I don’t know how Valyrian dragon bonds work, but you’re a warg too. You know how animals influence and are influenced by us. It’s corrupting you, Daemon—or at least, I hope it’s the dragon corrupting you.”

I scoffed. “You’re correct, Aethan, you know nothing. Cannibal is greater than lesser animals—even other dragons. He still has some reservations about being bonded, but I assure you the bond is true. I can literally feel his care and love for his bonded. He would protect and save me no matter what and would follow my orders if I needed him to.”

Aethan looked at me in disbelief. “I don’t see how a beast oozing that much malice could ever feel the things you just said, Daemon. Anyway, please be careful and thoughtful about whatever you do. This world is not ready to lose you yet, my dear friend.”

I looked at Cannibal, using all my senses, trying to see what Aethan was apparently seeing—but I couldn’t feel anything wrong. I looked back at Aethan and said, “Your warning is noted, friend. I will be wary in my dealings.”

Aethan smiled at that, but I could see it was a forced smile. We both knew that was the end of that serious matter.

“Now tell me how you did this, Daemon, and I’ll share your favorite—lizard lion meat,” Aethan said with a smirk.

=============================================

101 AC

The Rogue Prince

King’s Landing

Daemon Targaryen needed all his control not to rage and cry as his father’s funeral pyre was lit by Vhagar and Caraxes. The Queen was too heartbroken and physically weak to come, but the Old King and all others were present.

The nobles of the court stood at a respectful distance as the pyre was consumed by dragonfire. Caraxes shrieked mournfully, and Vhagar remained silent, but Daemon could still feel the rage and sorrow of the Old War Queen even from here.

They stood on Visenya’s Hill, surrounded by unwashed masses who yelled irrelevant things. Still, even Daemon could feel the peasants' sadness, as they feared what would happen now that the beloved avenging Prince Baelon the Brave died.  There was even some yells of Death to the Slavers, as if Baelon was killed by those scums.  But Daemon knew the truth, it was no assassin it was  sickness that claimed his father.

Daemon internally scoffed at that, for he knew there was only one choice: his elder brother, Viserys Targaryen. Daemon looked at his cousin Rhaenys and was glad that at least she had come to pay her respects.

Daemon was pulled from his thoughts by the harsh voice of the Old King.

“Aegon.”

The call was immediately followed by the king summoning Viserys, Rhaenys, and Daemon as well. Daemon looked at his younger brother and realized that Aegon had been walking toward Vhagar when the king called out—then covered it up by summoning all his present grandchildren.

 “Aegon, you dumb fuck,” Daemon whispered before following the king’s orders along with the others.

======================================

Daemon assembled in the king’s solar with Viserys, Rhaenys, and his younger brother Aegon. He could clearly see the exhaustion and age in the Old King—worsened now by the death of yet another child. Daemon immediately reined in his emotions regarding his father, knowing it would make him volatile again. Control was necessary now, especially as he could already sense his “bitch” of a cousin preparing to make her claim.

“Your Grace, you called us here?” Viserys asked, while Aegon grumbled from his place near the wall.

The Old King ignored Viserys entirely. “Aegon, please tell me you were not about to try and claim Vhagar then and there when I called you.”

Rhaenys gasped at that; even Viserys paled at the thought. Aegon looked down in shame before lifting his head with determination.

“Yes. I was going to claim Vhagar. She was my father’s dragon, and now she belongs to me. Viserys has his kingdom, Daemon has his sword, and I will have his dragon—a fair division of his possessions among his three sons and a future for House Targaryen. Don’t you think so, Your Grace?” Aegon said with firm resolve.

Daemon smirked and looked to the Old King for his reaction. The king looked as if he had been struck by the audacity of his grandson.

“Clearly, you have been coddled too much, Aegon. Baelon failed both you and me if this is what you’ve learned. Your father had nothing to give away—everything he had came from my will and generosity. He was not yet king. His dragon was claimed only after seeking my permission. I gave Dark Sister to Daemon and not Baelon.

"Let’s set aside the arrogance and pride. Aegon, you clearly know nothing of dragons if you thought you could claim Vhagar over the funeral pyre of her previous rider. Daemon, please tell us what would have happened if this fool had tried to mount Vhagar then.”

Daemon grinned in anticipation and looked at his youngest brother—a brother he loved and hated in equal measure.

“Valonqar, you should have succeeded in approaching Vhagar without anyone noticing. Then you would’ve made history,” Daemon said, his grin widening at Aegon’s briefly hopeful expression. “By dying in dragonfire and being remembered as the most idiotic Targaryen ever. Vhagar is grieving, and no one can claim her until she is ready again. It hasn’t even been a week since our father died. The bond is still too raw.”

Aegon paled, his face turning ashen in horror.

“I… I… I didn’t know,” Aegon whispered.

“Clearly,” the Old King replied coldly. “No one is to approach Vhagar. And you are not to approach any dragon until you learn all there is to know about dragonlore—from either of your brothers or from Rhaenys. You will only be allowed near a dragon again if they give me their word of your competence in the matter. I will not bury another of my blood,” the Old King snapped.

“Your Grace,” Rhaenys began, hesitant.

“Enough, Rhaenys,” the Old King snapped. “If this is about the matter of succession, do not waste my time. You will never be heir, and Viserys is my heir now, as it should be. I’ve heard that Corlys has started playing the game of thrones. If you can promise to stop that here and now, then I have nothing else to say to you.”

Daemon suppressed a laugh, but his mirth was visible to all present.

“I am your eldest son’s daughter, and by all laws of gods and men, I should be the Queen. I will not stop fighting for that. Even now, your own wife supports me—she is just too sickly to come here and argue with you.”

The Old King scoffed. “I see no compromise among you lot, and I will have no more of it. I am summoning my remaining son here—Prince Vaegon. Maybe I should declare him as my heir and let the matter end here.”

Even before anyone could protest they were dismissed by the King.  Daemon just cursed his stupid cousin and her sea worm of a husband.  They are giving him extra work by making him go and recruit men in support of his brother. 

===============================================

Authors Note: so the next chapter is great council II and chapter 37 is finally the ritual. It is ironic that even though chapter title is great council, it has so little screentime. 

So any guesses when or how gael identified daemon….  I don’t know if u realised it, gael never answered and it was daemon’s assumption, which is usually correct we read.

Also initially I made baelon died in 100ac because of increased stress of abusing magic and other ruling related stress, but  later changed to canon time. 

ADS 34

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Warning: Some Lemons and NSFW scenes in the lower half of the chapter.

Chapter 34: The Princess and The Bard

98 AC, 8th Moon

King's Landing

Jon Snow- The Bard.

The applause and the claps washed over me as my group ended the song while the nobles danced their hearts out. My hair was completely black, and I had to use an eye patch for my violet eye, feigning an injury from the past. My hair had grown, and the bangs lay around and over my face so that the eye patch didn’t attract undue attention. With that and my own acting skills, not even the Targaryens' could see their likeness in me.

I knew how much the nobles didn’t care about the smallfolk, but still, even while enjoying my music—which I stole from my past life—they couldn’t bother to look at me. My own body language, which tries to remain as inconspicuous as possible, doesn’t help matters.

It was a blessing in disguise for me, as I could make my moves. This was the last day of the tourney, and I had to admit, it was one of the best celebrations I have enjoyed in this life. The valor, the dragons dancing in the sky, the music—everything was celebratory and good. I had at least a hundred animals, including birds, spread around the Red Keep alone for the last two months. It was to see if any type of danger was there for me and to make my escape. The rats had already mapped the secret tunnels for me, and if escape was impossible in the off chance, Cannibal had been flying near King’s Landing and resting in a nearby cavern.

After hearing about the Ritual of Blood—sacrificing the one who loved you to make the soul bond—from Cannibal, I was carefully planning the matter. I had to postpone my travel and stayed with Cannibal for two more weeks, getting every bit of information on that ritual and how it could be done. I also needed that time to convince Cannibal to stay in Dragonstone and not come with me. It took all my manipulation skills to convince Cannibal to follow that order. But ultimately, as usual, even the dreaded Cannibal followed my commands.

I looked around as another bard started the song. My own group withdrew to the shadows, and many observed the grand hall and the nobles with open envy. I could easily see the envy and greed on almost all the faces of the music groups waiting there to perform. I casually walked to the walls, lessening my presence with every step. It was a move inspired by an anime in my last life. By the time I reached the wall, I was all but invisible and irrelevant to all. This was a skill I developed by using my warging presence to project an almost notice-me-not effect. Combined with my acting and body language, I became almost invisible to all but a few exceptional people.

I exited the open room and walked toward a hallway. The walls had decorations of dragons and wyverns, which I ignored with a scoff. It was too pretentious for my tastes. I walked as others passed me without even a glance. Even the nobles who passed didn’t look at me.

See that, Faceless Men? I can also be stealthy—and I didn’t even have to kill anyone, I thought, as I entered the hidden door to a secret passage after making sure no one had a visual on that place.

The secret paths had tiny holes to let air and sound pass through to spy, and even light, if needed. But with my night vision, I had no need for a torch. My target was the same room it had been for the last moon: Princess Gael’s room. I already knew Alysanne had sent the princess away before anyone could ask her for a dance, and the queen was still in the great hall enjoying the feast and the grand ball.

I thought it would be hard to arrange contact with Gael and even woo her, but it was actually easy—and I was lucky. One moon ago, after a performance during a feast hosted for one of the Lord Paramounts arrival, I was allowed to pray before the weirwood tree of the Red Keep in the godswood. It was an honor that the castellan allowed me because he was the one who found my group of musicians—and I had been such a hit.

My other aim for this was that I knew Gael liked to spend time just sitting before the weirwood to relax and escape from all the stares and whispers and Alysanne’s smothering. So as I was mock-praying, Princess Gael entered the godswood and only saw me when she was very near the weirwood.

One moon ago.

A startled gasp made me look behind me and see what I was expecting.

Princess Gael looked ethereal, and I saw her reading my entire face and body. I stood up and changed my presence, which had been smothered till now so no one of importance gave me a second glance, to something that would be charming and charismatic to the extreme.  Being handsome as I am is its own privilege when utilized. I had seen many jealous rants about handsome and pretty privilege in my previous life and they would have murdered me gladly by how much I have used it in this life. 

“Oh, sorry, my lord, I didn’t see you praying, otherwise I wouldn’t have disturbed you,” Gael said, and I could see her blushing as she finally noticed my handsomeness and the body of a warrior.

I just smiled and bowed.

“It is of no consequence, my fair maiden. The weirwood and Old Gods are certainly lesser when you are in front of me, my princess. I would gladly worship you rather than trees.” I could see Gael opening her mouth slightly in surprise and mortification before some anger surfaced at my forwardness, but I didn’t give time for it to erupt.

“But I digress,” I pressed on with an exaggerated bow and raised my right hand for her to give. “I am not a noble lord, my princess. I am nothing but a humble traveling bard who was lucky to come to King’s Landing and now see you, my princess. I have traveled the world and seen the beauty of it—I’ve seen the Black Swan of Braavos, the Black Beauty of the Summer Islands, even your own sisters, Princesses Saera and Vissera—but none come close to your beauty, my princess.” I said while cringing internally. But my own charisma was enough that she automatically raised her hand to mine, and I kissed the knuckles, which led to another gasp from the princess.

I knew no nobles had ever courted Gael till now, and any proposals were directed to the king. Almost all consider Gael a simpleton, smothered by the queen’s presence. I smirked internally—it was just too easy to charm her and needle her.

“You, a simple bard, dare to utter such filth to a princess and even kiss me? What is your name, you foolish bard? At least I should know that when I inform this to my brother or father and when he punishes you,” Gael snapped after she calmed down her beating heart and blushing.

I observed her closely, my empathetic sense at full blast, and I grinned as I got the perfect response I was aiming for: Wonder, curiosity, surprise, and a small bit of anger.

I was still holding her hand when I bowed exaggeratedly again.

“My princess, my name is Jon Snow, and please forgive me if I have overstepped,” I said calmly. “It is as you said—your beauty and presence turned me into a fool, and I dare say I would suffer any punishment for even having the luck of greeting you in one of the Essosi ways.”

The princess retreated her hand from mine and stepped back three paces, observing me fully as if deciding my fate.

“For all the rumors of being a simpleton, I am not a simpleton, Jon Snow. You are not a common bard. You are too confident, and even your body…” Gael stopped speaking midway as she could see the hardened muscles through the light white shirt I had on. I just openly grinned with a twinkle in my one eye.

Gael shook her head to clear her thoughts, and a scowl appeared on her face at seeing my grin.

“Cease your idiotic grin,” Gael said with a frown, swallowing her embarrassment.

I nodded and put on a calm face.

“You are clearly a warrior. No bard has such a physique,” Gael said.

“Alas, my princess, I was not born into royalty with noble knights to protect me. I had to be a warrior to protect myself, and for traveling, it is essential—especially in the slaver cities,” I said with a scowl. “So I am a warrior by necessity and a bard by heart. And one shouldn’t lie in front of the Old Gods, and I assure you what I said was true and from the heart. I would suffer any punishment for one such as you, my princess.”

 This time Gael managed to swallow any embarrassment and reaction to my flirting and maintained a stern face, which was more cuter in my opinion.

“I see,” Gael said. “But your willingness to suffer punishment is not a reason for me to not disclose this to my family. Why must I remain quiet about your overt move towards me, so far above your station?” Her face was sterner, and I could see the intelligence shining in her eyes as if trying to gauge me.

I understood that even with my full-on charismatic presence, she would go through with her threat if she didn’t get a good enough answer.

“Well, my princess, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you are alone with me here—no guards or ladies-in-waiting—and as you said, I am a warrior. So threatening one such as me in this situation may lead to violence. Be aware of that, my princess,” I said with a calm smile, but I could see Gael getting tenser, which I immediately broke with an open, friendly smile. Surprise and not giving enough time to think logically was the name of the game and I pressed on.

“But I am not a violent man, and I would never do such a thing—especially to you, my fair princess. Don’t be wary of me, my princess. I just want to tell you about the world I have seen. You can do what you deem correct, my princess. I have no excuses except what I have already told you. I will even wait here so that you can do it. For that matter, I am curious—where are your guards and noble ladies-in-waiting? For a princess, you are lonely now,” I finished pointedly and sat back with my back to the weirwood tree.

I looked back to the still-standing Gael, and as expected, the height difference and my own lesser position had given her enough comfort to come closer and not turn back and report me.

She looked fragile, as if remembering about the ladies-in-waiting and her situation.

“I have no personal guards or ladies-in-waiting, Jon Snow. It is lucky for you that I have no sworn shield. Everything I have is my mother’s, and I am expected to use her ladies-in-waiting and guards. Thus, here I am, spending some quality time now ruined by you.”

“I will be honest, my princess, this is utterly tragic. For a young lady such as you to not have her own friends or ladies-in-waiting—it seems I am not the one deserving punishment, but the queen is, for stifling someone like you. I was wondering where the vicious rumors regarding your intelligence and capability originated—and it seems your mother’s smothering is a major part of it. I am truly sad you have to go through this.” I laid it on thick with emotion.

Gael’s eyes widened in pure surprise and fear.

Hook, line, and sinker! I thought, swallowing the smirk that threatened to envelop me. A princess doesn’t simply lay with a simple bard in real life.  So my guess of blaming the queen in Gael’s death in canon is correct. The smothering lead to Gael lashing out or even trying to escape.

Gael immediately tried to smother her emotions and play the obedient princess card.

"You truly are a curious man, Jon Snow. You have the audacity to vilify my dear mother in front of a princess of the blood, in her own castle. Heads have rolled for far less," she finished sternly.

I just shrugged.

"I call it as I see it, my princess. I came to terms with death a long time ago—I have nothing to lose. Only when you accept that can you truly be free. We are in front of the old gods, and I can only speak truths now, so I must say it. In fact, my princess, that is your reason for not reporting my words. You would lose the only friend you have—and for what? A greeting and a kiss you clearly liked," I said with a grin.

Gael immediately blushed, snapping, "I didn’t like it, you idiot!"

But she calmed, as if registering only one thing then, and whispered,

"Friend?"

I nodded with an understanding smile.

"Aye, of course. How could I not entertain such a lonely princess when I am full of epic stories and music? I will gladly be your friend."

I could see happiness, and even her eyes filling with slight tears.

"I am glad, then," Gael said with a sniffle. "I will magnanimously forgive you if you sing for me, here and now."

I agreed gladly and sang a melody in my lowest voice, not wanting to gather attention.

I had already sent four people away from the godswood and nearby hallways by using birds and animals. I made birds shit on them and even used a rat to bite the leg of a guard who thought he could rest in the godswood bushes while on duty. I thank my lucky stars that no one bothered to keep a spy on Gael, as she spends time alone in the godswood almost regularly at this hour.

========================

I entered the princess's room through the secret entry after making sure there was no one but Gael inside. There was no noise from the door, as it had been well oiled by me in the first week itself. Our secret rendezvous started after three days of meeting in the Godswood, when Alysanne came to know about the bard of the Godswood who entertained her precious child. Immediately, Gael was banned from ever entering the Godswood, and I could see her mind plummeting into darkness day by day.

I let her stew for five days then, and entered her room one night. She was surprised beyond anything, and I had to confess to her that I was a warg and had used the rats to find the legendary secret paths built by Maegor. She was very happy to meet me, and our meetings continued whenever possible.

"Jon." A happy tone and a body hit me as Gael hugged me when she saw me entering the room. I was very glad at that and hugged her back while my hands went to her waist. She nestled her face in my neck and shoulders, enjoying my warmth as she complained about her harpy of a mother and her insane orders. I could feel the still-drying hair on her head against my body from the hot bath she had just taken in preparation before bed, and I hummed and murmured at the perfect places, all the while my hands massaged her waist and back.

My hands were just above the swell of her ass when she stepped backwards a single step and looked at my face with a grin. Then she did the thing I had been waiting for since entering the room.

She looked at my face with a smile, and came forward to kiss me. It was something that had been happening for the last three weeks, and she had been the one who initiated the kiss then, which I escalated day by day.

Our lips met for several heartbeats, and my hands slowly went downward from the swell and cupped her ass cheeks. It was soft and firm from all the steps, and I squished it, making her open her mouth for some tongue-to-tongue action. Fortunately for me, royalty had enough hygiene—including for teeth—that I didn’t have any problem with it.  For all the amount of fucking I have done in this world to spread my seed this is the second women I have kissed.   

It continued until she couldn’t go on, as she had to breathe, and she retreated several steps and sat on the bed.

She looked at me with a half-open mouth and lidded eyes that oozed sexiness, and I couldn’t help but get hard in my pants.

"Jon..." she hissed, and I could feel the hidden order.

I just smiled while walking towards the table in her room. I opened the compartment and took out the hidden Arbor wine I had left there. I took out two glasses and poured, hiding what I was pouring. The Arbor wine was spiked with my blood, and I had been feeding Gael that so she could be healed fully and have more magical potential unlocked by the time the ritual was performed.

I reached near the bed and gave her one glass, which she eagerly drank. I cupped her face with my hands, looking into her eyes.

"Jon, please let today be the day," she pleaded.

And I sighed. I hadn’t fucked her until now because the magical ritual that needed to be done would be more effective if she lost her virginity just before the ritual—and me sacrificing her.

"Gael, my love, please understand me. You can’t have moon tea, and I can’t procure it—and moreover, it is harmful to you, my dear. Also, I want our first time to be magical and to be enjoyed with the freedom to yell your heart out when we finally join. If you're my wife, then it will be perfect, Gael. And it’s not like you are left with any unsatisfied desires, Gael." I finished with a proud smirk, which led to some furious blushing and spluttering from Gael. And I was correct, too—the oral sex had been very satisfying even for me, which really surprised me the first time with Gael.

==============================================

Here I was, who had felt sex was just mechanical work—useful for having bastards across the kingdoms among the smallfolk—and I expected that I would have to use my control aspect even to cum when I was with Gael. But the sight of her innocent eyes looking up at me with my cock in her mouth and the sheer power I felt was enough to make me cum in her mouth the first time. Maybe it was the power dynamics of having such a beautiful princess wantonly pleasing me, but I haven’t had to use my control aspect even once till now. She was eager to please, and I was eager to cum as much as possible, which helped her gain power far faster than from some diluted blood—though it took some gaslighting from me for her to swallow the first time.

"My princess, please stop sucking for now. I am quite near my release. And you need to prepare for it," I said.

Gael looked pleased at that but released her mouth from my cock and looked at me questioningly.

"I cum more than others, and it will be quite large. We cannot leave any stains on the floor or bedsheets, or it will be discovered and identified, my princess."

Gael contemplated that and nodded. "So what must we do? Clearly, you have a solution. And I don’t want you to leave without having the same magical feelings you just gave me."

"There is a way to not leave any stains on the bed or the floor. I will release in your mouth, and you must swallow every single drop. Start swallowing the moment it begins, or you’ll get choked by the amount."

Gael looked surprised, and her nose scrunched in disgust. "People actually do that?"

"Aye," I said. "And don’t be like that, my dear. It will be quite good for you, and I manage my diet enough that it won’t taste bad."

Gael nodded. "Well, I want to try it at least once," and she returned to take my cock in her mouth again. For her first time, she was passable—the lips were tight and glided around my cock firmly, while her tongue worked simultaneously. After another five minutes of her bobbing head and sheer love in her eyes, I could feel my release coming.

I warned her, and she nodded slightly without breaking the rhythm.

With a gasp, my hands tightened around her hair as I felt pleasure and a high unlike any other and came. I could see the moment the first spurt hit the back of her mouth by the widening of her eyes, and she followed the order and swallowed immediately. Spurt after spurt continued for almost a minute due to my improved physicality, and by the time it ended, there was several pearly-white drips from the side of her lips to her ample breasts.

I looked down and could see she had enjoyed that and looked as if she were also high. She finished swallowing, took my cock out of her mouth, and licked it clean, taking everything from it.

"That..." she slurred, "that was something else. How?"

"I am special, my dear," I said and looked at the dripping cum on her chin and breasts.

"Oh," Gael whispered and looked down, seeing the pearly-white cum. She scooped it with her fingers, cleaning it without spilling a single drop. I quickly hardened again, and her eyes widened in panic at that, which made me laugh hard.

======================================

She swallowed her embarrassment from my comment and took my hand in hers.

"Jon, I will gladly have your children, and I don’t care if it is a bastard or not. The child will have everything it needs, and it will be mine—our little one."

I sighed in tiredness at that.

"My love, I know you will care for and love the child, but your family will not—especially your mother. What if she gives you moon tea? It will damage both you and our child permanently. We are young, and there is no hurry to have children. It has been only almost one moon since our physical relationship started, and there is far more to discover and enjoy, my love."

I saw the fear and understanding in her eyes as she knew her mother could be cruel when needed. She shook her head slightly, as if dispelling the negative thoughts, before taking on a more sensual smile.

"Oh? Is that so, my knowledgeable bard? Then educate this poor princess about the next form of enjoyment."

"Well, let’s save time now and pleasure each other simultaneously. It is called sixty-nine," I said and lay down in her soft bed, inviting her to lie on me upside down.

She looked confused for a moment before understanding dawned, and she grinned enthusiastically before jumping on me.

=============================

Authors Note:  never felt confident in writing romance,fluff and smut.. so the end result is this chapter..   started writing without any scene in mind, just the plot of daemon meeting gael, seducing etc.. things just flowed into this very fast..     hope everyone likes it.. also don’t expect lemons anymore…

The name jon snow..  daemon and I was cheeky enough to use that name.. atleast it was the name daemon actually expected to gain when the entity made the offer after all….     

Also we are very near to the point where  I am most excited about.. jae’s meeting with daemon…  maximum by 38 the meeting will happen. 

Next chapter title is The Great Council.

FD 6

Chapter 6: The Feral Dragon

83 AC

Queen Alysanne Targaryen

It had been a hectic few days for Queen Alysanne. Her dear husband and elder sons had departed for war the previous day, and the burden of rule now rested squarely on her shoulders. She had been consumed with helping them prepare and even making plans for what to do if something were to happen to her kin. She knew, logically, that nothing could stand against three dragonriders over open waters—but still, her heart was not at peace.

Her anxiety was worsened by the antics of her children and grandchildren. Usually, the trouble began with Gaemon, but this time, it was her dear Rhaenys. The panic Rhaenys expressed—saying her father would ride Caraxes to war but only Caraxes would return—bordered on madness. No one could soothe the girl, not until she had a private meeting with Gaemon in the godswood. Alysanne had wanted to look into the matter herself but hadn’t found the time. And she knew that no one else would be able to get an answer out of Gaemon.

It was early morning now, and Alysanne felt the urge to yell at Gaemon for missing the send-off of the King. She knew he had offered quiet well-wishes to his elder brothers, but the absence of a public show of support had not gone unnoticed by the court and the nobles. The only small comfort was that Gaemon had not disappeared into the streets or flown off to the Dragonpit alone. The entire royal family was under strict watch—Dorne could send assassins, or worse, kidnappers to stay the King’s hand.

After her ladies-in-waiting finished preparing her, Alysanne’s first order of business was to visit her sweet Gael. The little girl was only three, but she was Alysanne’s greatest source of strength.

=================

Small Council Meeting.

“My Queen,” Ser Ryam said as he entered the chamber and bowed.

The Queen gave him a nod while the other council members, save for Septon Barth, shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“Prince Gaemon is nowhere to be found, Your Grace,” Ser Ryam reported. “He is usually in the practice yard as punishment, but he’s not there today. I’ve searched the godswood and the kitchens. I’ve also sent men to the Dragonpit to check if he’s there.”

The others frowned but kept silent—none dared speak ill of the Prince in the Queen’s presence, save Septon Barth, a long time friend and confidant of the Monarchs.

“Ser Ryam, this is unacceptable,” the Septon spoke up. “His Grace specifically ordered Gaemon to attend these meetings and support the Queen as the eldest male Prince remaining in the capital.”

Ser Ryam remained quiet, glancing toward the Queen. Though she retained her regal bearing, the exhaustion on her face was unmistakable.

“Ser Ryam, the Lord Hand is correct,” the Queen said firmly. “Send out the order. Every man is to be notified. Prince Gaemon is to be found and brought before me immediately. I would very much like to know what he deems more important than supporting his family in such trying times. Make sure that the King’s order is not known among the men.”

Ser Ryam bowed in acknowledgment and turned toward the door—only for it to slam open a moment later.

“Who dares—” Septon Barth began, indignant, but he immediately swallowed his words upon seeing Princess Alyssa enter.

“Daughter, what is this?” the Queen asked, frowning with restrained anger at the disruption and disrespect.

“Mother, this is awful news. Both Rhaenys and my own son Viserys haf gone too far—” Alyssa began to explain, but her words were drowned out by an ear-splitting roar.

The Black Dread.

Everyone in the room froze, their panic rising, but it was Alyssa’s next words that truly seized the council’s attention.

“My son and niece are missing.”

In an instant, all concern about Gaemon vanished. The Small Council sprang into action, ordering the search for the young royals to begin at once.

==================================

It took time, but eventually the young princess and prince were found. Alyssa scolded them sharply, while Queen Alysanne watched with a stern, disappointed expression. She held her silence, mindful of maintaining royal dignity and not losing her temper in front of the children.

They were near the entrance to Maegor’s Holdfast, where the children had been caught, when Ser Ryam came running toward them, another man-at-arms in tow, breathless from exertion.

“Your Grace,” Ser Ryam said hurriedly, “I have news of Prince Gaemon. He’s in the Dragonpit—doing something.”

Both the Queen and Alyssa exchanged surprised glances. The Queen turned her attention to the man-at-arms, whose pale, shaken face betrayed fear and disbelief.

With a gentle smile, Alysanne asked, “Good ser, you’ve come with tidings. What is it?”

The knight bowed and spoke hesitantly, pausing to catch his breath. “Your Grace, Prince Gaemon… he’s lost his wits. He’s attacking Balerion—the Black Dread—with the King’s sword, Blackfyre, in the middle of the coliseum. We had to force our way in to witness it, as the dragonkeepers had been ordered to block all entry.”

Alyssa gasped, her mouth falling open in shock. Even Queen Alysanne stood speechless, panic rising in her chest like a tide.

‘What in the Seven Hells is Gaemon doing?’ she thought, horrified. ‘Does he want to reduce King’s Landing to ash?’

Without another word, Alysanne turned to give her orders.

“Prepare a carriage—immediately. Alyssa and I will go to the Dragonpit at once.”

She wanted to ride a horse herself, but her riding days were long behind her. And she knew instinctively that sending Alyssa alone would not be enough.

==============================

Gaemon Logan Targaryen had prepared well for this day.  He had already mapped out a plan to sneak Blackfyre from the king’s solar and use the distraction caused by his young niece to escape to the Dragonpit. Everything had gone according to plan, and he reached the Dragonpit in record time.

He went inside and the normally friendly dragonkeepers tensed seeing the Kings blade in his hand. 

"My prince?" the leader asked in High Valyrian.

"Out of the pit. Now," Gaemon commanded, and the authority in his voice, forged through years of leadership, made the younger dragonkeepers obey immediately.

"My prince? What are you doing?" one of the elders asked nervously.

"The enslavement of dragons ends today. And today, the sickness plaguing Balerion will be destroyed," Gaemon declared as he ran into the caves.

His first target was Balerion himself—and the chains the Black Dread had allowed to be placed upon him.

Gaemon looked up at the black dragon who had shared such kinship with him in this life. A brief study of his House’s history had been enough to make him understand why. They were both old souls, beings who had watched centuries pass while loved ones died around them. He knew that before his own birth, Balerion had merely been waiting for death. Only the connection they now shared gave the dragon a reason to try again—just as Logan had, when the mysterious entity gave him a second chance at life.

Balerion’s eyes glinted with excitement—and a trace of dread—for the pain he knew was coming. As Gaemon approached, the mighty dragon shifted slightly, allowing his rider better access. With casual, practiced slashes, Gaemon broke the chains. The strength in his youthful body had always amazed Balerion, but in that moment, it didn't matter. He could finally taste freedom—not from the chains, for he could have broken those any time—but from the sickness inside him.

Balerion moved swiftly into the center of the Dragonpit, and Gaemon followed. He looked around and saw the massive arena, large enough to hold 80,000 people who once came to witness marriages, royal announcement and even crownings.

"Maegor built a colosseum in just four or five years. The engineering in this world is insane," Gaemon thought.

Silverwing and Dreamfyre arrived next, and Balerion hissed a simple command: burn the infection when Gaemon gave the signal.

Gaemon glanced at the younger dragons. He could feel Silverwing’s terror and Dreamfyre’s wild joy.

Dreamfyre, eager to inflict pain on the Black Dread, even stepped forward to start the burning early. Only a sharp warning hiss from Balerion stopped her.

"Well, well. At least Dreamfyre is happy to hurt you," Gaemon said in Valyrian. "Rhaena must have truly hated you for Dreamfyre to still carry such deep resentment."

Balerion simply snorted in response.

"No hesitation now. Let me reach the infection," Gaemon muttered, climbing up Balerion’s wing, which was positioned in the ground like a gigantic slide. The dragon had lowered it to give him easier access to the injuries above the wing joint and beneath the spine.

Gaemon winced as his enhanced senses picked up the stench of rot. The wound was massive—nearly the length of his own body and wide enough for two men to walk side by side. He stood on Balerion’s wings, observing the damage.

Gameon increased his grip on Blackfyre and swung diagonally using all his strength, which was considerable, as fast he could for several minutes.  Within minutes a huge  X shape was carved in the black rotted scales. black pus smelling of rotting eggs and sulfur began to ooze out.

Balerion just grunted in annoyance. 

Gaemon nodded grimly at the suggestion. "Alright then, I will do that."

With a shout, he drove Blackfyre into the wound, burying the blade to its hilt. It took all his strength and weight. When the sword refused to come loose, he jumped and kicked off Balerion’s body to wrench it free. The moment the sword was out, a geyser of black blood and pus erupted. The force threw Gaemon back several meters—luckily, or he might’ve been burned by the acidic discharge.

The liquid continued pouring, and as Gaemon approached the hole, he noticed movement. His enhanced vision caught the sight of wriggling forms.

Worms.

His face contorted in disgust.

"Fucking hell."

He shoved the blade halfway back into the wound and used it like a saw to carve along the X. The interior flesh was softer, and between his strength and Valyrian Steel, he made short work of it. Black fluid poured out like a river. His body and clothes were soon soaked, and he could feel the worms crawling on his skin. But he ignored the revulsion and kept going.

After five minutes, the job was done. A deep X-shaped cavity now marred Balerion’s flesh.

The dragon grunted something Gaemon didn’t catch—and without warning, Dreamfyre’s blue fire engulfed the whole area.

"My prince!" someone from the Dragonguard shouted in horror, but no one moved to intervene.

Gaemon was startled by the fire and he leapt sideways to avoid it, but the fire was all enveloping and he could feel the blood and pus-soaked clothes becoming ashes within seconds. He could feel the black liquid that had landed on him vanishing and then the worms being turned ash before he felt the increased warmth from the fire.  By the third minute he was tanned like he was in the sun for a month. His pale white body became red like it was painted, but luckily for him there had no burns. 

"Well... I’m somewhat unburnt," he said, dazed. "Nice of you to warn me, Balerion. I go out of my way to help, and you try to cook me?" Gaemon asked sarcastically.

Balerion only grunted again.

"I knew those worms were trouble. But little warning would've been nice," Gaemon muttered.

Gaemon walked forwards to the sickness and then slashed his sword randomly around the cooked flesh.  The flesh parted like butter and landed on the wings and around it increasing the hole.  

 Balerion grunted. Gaemon took the hint and slid down the wing, stepping aside.

Dreamfyre let out a satisfied rumble and stepped forward. Balerion had already shifted his wings. Dreamfyre wasted no time—ripping away dead flesh with claws, teeth, and fire. Four rounds of this impromptu cleansing followed. When the wound was finally cleared, a huge hole where a horse could walk forward was created.  Dreamfyre bathed the entire area in fire again.

Balerion hissed, and Dreamfyre stopped immediately.  Balerion then turned and looked at the much smaller blue dragon still standing near the massive hole in his side. Gaemon was impressed by the flexibility of his neck. The inspection lasted only seconds.

Without warning, Balerion breathed fire on his own wound—then turned the flame on to the ground and then Dreamfyre. "Balerion!" Gaemon shouted in alarm as Dreamfyre was engulfed in black flame. He feared the worst—but sighed in relief when the fire died down, revealing Dreamfyre almost unharmed, with only a few scorched scales.

Dreamfyre growled angrily, but Balerion’s hiss silenced her. The message was clear: the worms had to be completely purged—even from Dreamfyre. Balerion then turned to Gaemon. In his mind, the image of a small slash wound on the dragon’s underbelly appeared.

Gameon just hissed in displeasure and he was still naked. Fortunately for him, he has no shame after living for so long.  Balerion just lied on the ground and lied side ways and gameon saw the slash. It was oozing black pus and Gaemon had a bad feeling regarding it which he ignored promptly with a scoff.

He reached near the slash and did the same as earlier.  Blackfyre to the hilt in the slash and then sawing the interior flesh.  Black liquid landed on Gaemon’s face and bald head which he ignored as he continued increasing the hole.   Even while he was doing that blue fire engulfed him and the hole and Gameon saw the black blood hissing as if it was acid landed on any surface.

Instincts flared, and Gaemon jumped back as a jet of black liquid poured out of the hole and landed on the sand, sizzling before vanishing in the heat of Dreamfyre’s blue flames.

Balerion grunted, and Gaemon ran sideways as Dreamfyre approached the slash. This time, there was no hesitation like before. There was only pure savagery as Dreamfyre used her claws, teeth, and fire to dig at the hole, making it bigger and bigger.

Gaemon could feel Balerion’s pain, but still, there was no sound of pain.

After two minutes, the hole was large enough for Dreamfyre to fit half her mouth inside, which she did—and then breathed fire directly into the flesh.

Gaemon wondered what could have made Balerion do this to himself.

As if in answer, Dreamfyre suddenly pulled back, and Gaemon saw something being dragged out between her teeth.

It was a worm—the size of an adult human—oozing black pus filled with smaller worms.

"Fire worms," Gaemon hissed.

Dreamfyre looked at the massive wound left behind, hissed at Balerion, and shook her head. Balerion grunted in displeasure and looked toward Gaemon.

"What the fuck?" Gaemon snapped. "You want me to be used as bait?"

Balerion hissed back.

"Fuck you too," Gaemon hissed, stalking toward the massive wound with Blackfyre in hand. He stopped when another hiss from Balerion made him turn away from the hole and toward the dragon’s head.

"You want to bond before that?" Gaemon whispered.

Balerion growled his agreement, and an image flashed in Gaemon’s mind—of Daemon’s bleeding hand pressed to Balerion’s mouth.

Gaemon nodded in understanding. As he approached the dragon’s head, he slashed his left palm against the edge of Blackfyre and raised it. But before Balerion’s tongue could reach him, the wound had already healed over. Gaemon grunted in frustration.

Balerion hissed again.

He moved his palms over Blackfyre’s edge again, reopening the wound, and raised both hands, while keeping the edge buried in his palms, so it will not heal over. He nearly lost his fingers by the time Balerion’s tongue reached him. Gaemon quickly lowered his right hand, still gripping the sword. As the wounds healed, Balerion’s tongue enveloped his entire body, and fire washed over him once more.

In that moment, he felt a sudden sense of completeness—his mind connected, a new bond forming between them. He could feel the thread that led to Balerion and tugged on it.

“Welcome, Gaemon.” Balerion’s deep, resonant voice echoed in his mind.

Ah, this is good, Gaemon replied the same way.

Now go and kill the other worm, Gaemon. Otherwise, it will corrupt your magic too.

Gaemon nodded and ran toward the large hole in Balerion’s side.

He was halfway there when the shrill yell of his mother and sister echoed from the entrance of the Dragonpit. But even before the scream had finished, Logan had jumped—already inside the hole.

Fortunately for Logan, the dragonfire had cauterized the edges, so there was no blood leaking. The interior was unbearably hot, and Logan knew he wouldn’t be able to breathe for long. He moved quickly, deeper into the hole, toward the bubbling black pus at the far end.

He glanced back and saw the reason Dreamfyre hadn’t been able to drag the second worm out—it had burrowed too deep, beyond her reach.

With a harsh yell, Logan began hacking at the flesh with Blackfyre, determined to kill the godsdamned worms.

=======================================

Alysanne Targaryen almost ran into the Dragonpit—only her pride stopped her from doing so. But the moment she stepped inside and saw what was happening, she wished she had run.

Her foolish son was naked, covered in soot, and wielding Blackfyre as he sprinted across the sands. She ignored Alyssa’s shouting, and even her own shout of “Gaemon!” was ignored. Within moments, her voice faltered into stunned silence.

Gaemon had leapt into a gaping hole in Balerion’s underbelly.

Alysanne knew how hot dragons ran—Balerion was the hottest of them all. She knew the blood will be boiling her son if he didn’t come out soon. Taking a deep breath to calm the rising terror, she looked around.

Balerion the Black Dread lay sprawled in the center of the Dragonpit sands, and both Dreamfyre and Silverwing waited nervously on the sidelines. Her Silverwing stood farther back than usual. Reaching out through their bond, Alysanne immediately felt her dragon’s intense fear and shock.

She urged Silverwing through the bond to approach Balerion and, if possible, dig Gaemon out—but Silverwing refused, sending a clear message: Be patient. Wait.

Alysanne sighed and obeyed, ordering the two Kingsguard to stay close. Other than the dragonkeepers, the pit was empty. The lead keeper quickly approached and began explaining what had happened so far.

“So you're saying a black worm the size of an adult was pulled out of Balerion and killed by Dreamfyre?” Alyssa snapped, disbelief ringing in her voice.

“And why did my son jump into Balerion’s belly with Blackfyre?” Alysanne demanded.

“I do not know, Your Grace,” the dragonkeeper replied. “My guess is there’s another worm, and Dreamfyre couldn’t reach it.”

As if summoned by their words, a hideous screech echoed through the pit, followed by Gaemon’s furious snarl. With horror, Alysanne watched as Gaemon was flung out of the hole in Balerion’s body, landing hard on the ground. His entire body was drenched in black pus that bubbled violently, as if trying to eat him alive. A massive chunk of flesh near his stomach was missing, as though some beast had torn into him. Blood poured from the wound without end.

But the most horrifying sight wasn’t the injury—it was Gaemon’s face. 

There was no pain.

No fear.

 Only wild, bestial rage.

“AHHHHH!” Gaemon screamed and, using Blackfyre as a lever to stand, lunged back toward the hole. As if catching his fury like a contagion, Balerion let out a ear-splitting roar and breathed fire at his own body and the hole as Gaemon vanished back into the wound.

Alysanne had only a glimpse before the fire consumed the area—but in that moment, she saw it: the black pus had vanished from Gaemon's body. She understood then—Balerion was helping her son, by burning the liquid.  Screeches and roars echoed through the pit. The sound of bones cracking followed. Alysanne stood frozen in worry as Dreamfyre stepped forward and, inhaling deeply, exhaled a torrent of blistering flame into the hole.

A moment later, a monstrous screech tore through the air as Dreamfyre jerked back. From the smoking wound, a grotesque black worm burst out. Gaemon rode atop it, Blackfyre buried to the hilt in its body.  She realized immediately that it was Gaemon’s momentum and strength that had driven the creature out of Balerion’s body.

With terrifying speed, Balerion rose and unleashed a roar that shook the pit—and then he breathed fire on the worm and Gaemon. Alysanne’s blood drained from her face. She screamed in terror and ran toward them. The fire was black as night, more powerful than any she had seen before. Even Gaemon, born unburnt, might not survive such flame. The Kingsguard tried to follow, but a deep growl from Silverwing froze them in place.

By the time Alysanne reached the scorched sands, the ground had turned to glass and the worm was nothing but ash. Ignoring the searing heat, she rushed to Gaemon and pulled him from the embers.

“No,” she whispered, then screamed when she got a good look.

Gaemon’s skin was completely burned, blackened and peeling. Three large pieces of flesh were missing—from his stomach, thigh, and hand. His shoulder bore a gaping, bleeding wound where massive teeth had bitten down. She paled, realizing the worm had aimed for his neck—and her son had moved at the last second to take the blow elsewhere.

She cursed the gods, sobbing, but her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a cough.

Gaemon suddenly sat up, panting.

“Gaemon! Gaemon, my son—how are you? Why—why—?”

Gaemon looked around, spotting Balerion lying exhausted on the ground, panting heavily. He could feel his dragon’s fury, pain, and the razor-thin thread of patience still holding him back. Ignoring his mother, his pain, and his nakedness, Gaemon stood, using Blackfyre as a crutch. His injuries meant little—they would heal. Though his healing was not yet at the level of his first life, it was still effective.

He saw the dragonkeepers standing nearby, horror etched on their faces. The entire garrison was watching. “Dragonkeepers!” he barked. “Bring every animal you can find for Balerion to feed on. Do not stop until he stops. Keep feeding him. Now.” The tone in his voice brooked no argument—they ran to obey.

Alysanne snapped out of her shock and stood. “Gaemon!” she shouted. “What in the Seven Hells are you doing? You’re half-dead—and yet you care about that black beast?”

Gaemon turned slowly, leaning on Blackfyre.

“It’s that or Balerion kills the nearest dragons and eats them to heal the damn holes,” he said flatly. “Also, this?” He gestured to his wounds. “It’s nothing, Mother. I’ll heal in a week. I’m going to pass out—don’t let the maesters give me any of their poppy-milk or useless potions.”

Alysanne stared at him, eyes wide. She looked at Silverwing in fear, then at her son’s broken body. And then—her eyes widened even more. The burns on his skin were not fresh as before. The bleeding had stopped. She had no time to react further. With a dull thud, Gaemon collapsed like a tree felled at the root.

=============================================

Authors note:  Finally..  gaemon has bonded with balerion and every bit of sickeness of balerion is extracted and killed…  also, ADS balerion had the same sickeness and when it died the worms also died because there was no magic sustaining it.    So if daemon claimed balerion in it, he had to do this  and extract the worms and even then  daemon’s haeling is not at the level of gaemon in 80s AC.  

Also going forward, I will try to update monthly as one of the major reason for delay was I planned on using ADS dragonlore, valyrian history for this fic.   So to not spoil ADS I kept this on hold . 

 During the long break and how much ads has moved forward,  I decided to not reuse it because ultimately it would be quite boring…  also I got another very interesting idea for the dragonlore and valyrian history for FD..  thus I don’t see any problem  in regular updates for FD.  Lets see what happens when I start FD 7, jae reaction and meeting with gaemon..  

GLH 14

Disclaimer: This is a story based on Harry Potter, Marvel, DC and Image comics characters and all recognizable characters, plots belong to Jk Rowling,Marvel, DC and Image comics. I claim no ownership to it.

Chapter 14: The World Was Not Ready : Part II

Even before the sentence was finished, two bullets reached the new presence in the corner of the room. Both bullets were stopped by an invisible shield.

"Now now, that is a welcome," the Star said, as the three agents finally saw the masked and hooded individual. Everyone understood it was some kind of uniform—and it was a wizard.

"Oh? Sorry for barging in," Star said in a voice that was not at all apologetic. "I am Star, an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries, London, Great Britain. Since we were both investigating the same matter, and you arrived at a conclusion—something that even I, with knowledge of both worlds, did not reach—I thought we could help each other."

"Barging into our base and spying isn't the act of someone who wants cooperation," Coulson said pointedly. "Especially when you have powers like that."

"Really?" Star exclaimed at the sheer hypocrisy in the statement, looking directly at Fury. All the spies could hear the incredulousness in his voice.

Fury ignored the exchange and asked, "Why are you here, and since when? How can we know that we’re not repeating this conversation over and over until you get what you want?"

"Oh, don’t worry, Director. The cameras will show there’s no time skip, and magic can’t modify videos without everything going kaboom," Star lied through his teeth.

"You ignored the other question, Star," Natasha said.

"Ah. I’m here because of you, Natasha. It was you sensing me on the day of the incident—in the aftermath—that intrigued me enough to keep an ear on you. You don’t know how incredible it was that I followed you and ignored all the other special parties there that day. Within minutes, it was justified—when I heard the name 'Harry Potter' from your lips. Then you had my attention. And since my own investigation yielded little, I followed you here and kept an ear out. The fact that you found all the discrepancies in Muggle records was the cake for me. But when I heard Director Fury explaining all the powers of the Wizarding World—that was the icing. I mean, here I am, with knowledge of a violation of the Statute of Secrecy at this level, and Fury—who is not even a world leader—has no right to know. But my own Director didn’t order interference, and now it pays off."

"That is a rather lengthy explanation," Natasha said hesitantly.

"So now that we all have our memories," Fury said sternly, "I assume you want to work with us?"

Star just shrugged nonchalantly. "I can’t openly work with you, even in disguise. But I am open to exchanging information. Even the Queen’s group wouldn’t know as much as my group. I had wondered how you, Director, had the knowledge—and I reached the name Peggy Carter. That answered it. Charlus Potter was always a bleeding heart to his friends. He lied to the ICW, claiming he modified the memories of his comrades in the Great War—except for one other enhanced individual who couldn’t be mind-wiped."

"Then it’ll be my honor to repay that kindness by finding his grandson, if he’s alive—or even his killer," Coulson said.

"Oh, is that so?" Star asked. "Don’t mistake selfishness for kindness, Agent Coulson. The Potters were always controversial, and the last few generations chose Muggle-loving ideals. Unfortunately for the rest of the world, they have been a beloved family of Lady Magic for ten centuries. The vain fools apparently had forgotten the rivers of muggle and wizard blood they spilled in enacting the Statue of Secrecy just three centuries ago and even more blood in defence of Britain in the muggle kings wars. They’re an arrogant family who will go right if the rest of the magical world goes left—just to stand out."

All three were silent. They didn’t have enough knowledge to reply, but all analysed the new knowledge very eagerly.

"That’s one way of describing something," Coulson said diplomatically. He had a high opinion of anyone who worked under Captain America.

"Also, I can assure you that Harry Potter is alive. Dumbledore confirmed it through various means of tracking," Star said.

"Enough of this," Fury cut in. "Star, your magic shows he’s alive, and you said you can exchange information. We have the records of the energy surges at both places. Is there any magical way to compare them?"

"There is a way to compare magical signatures—but not from what you have. We’d need to be at the site within hours to cast the right spells to match them. Even then, one of the places is Azkaban, and after a heavy fight involving Albus Dumbledore, there wouldn’t be enough of an identifiable signature to match the one from the Dursleys. My own Director was at Azkaban. If there was anything to bring, he would’ve brought it to me."

Fury looked at the news paper in front of him and asked, "Your Director was there? But my own intel and reports don’t mention that."

"That’s surprising. Why did he allow a criminal to escape from the prison?" Coulson asked.

"Well, it’s not every day you get to watch Albus Dumbledore stretch his magic, or a fight that begins with someone like Lord Malfoy losing a hand," Star said. Everyone could hear the mirth in his voice at Malfoy's loss.

"I take it you don’t like this Malfoy fellow?" Fury asked.

"Oh, don’t twist your necks for him, Fury. I can assure you—Malfoy is a proud Death Eater who eagerly killed dozens of wizards and Muggles under the Dark Lord. More than that, it was his cunning that made the Dark so powerful in the Wizengamot. Fortunately for your kind, he was an ardent hater of Mugglophilia and ensured that Muggles died under torture rather than being used as playthings—unlike other Death Eaters who preferred to fuck them and torture them."

Even the nearly unflappable Fury showed emotion at that—rage and helplessness.

"Mugg… Mugglophilia?" Natasha asked hesitantly. Her instincts picked up on the word, comparing it to others like paedophilia.

"Yes," Star replied, as if it were nothing important.

"You have a term to describe someone having sex with a non-magical person—as if it were a disease?"

"Yes. We have the term," Star replied casually, as if wondering what the big deal was.

"This is…" Even the Black Widow was speechless.

"Ah," Star exclaimed. "Now I understand what you meant. Agents, please understand—wizards are not Homo sapiens with magic. We are not like mutants with one additional gene. We are the chosen people of Lady Magic, blessed with the power to manipulate her. Even Muggle-borns aren’t Homo sapiens. They were blessed by Lady Magic, and it changes them fundamentally—in everything, including sex. Even if there’s no emotional feeling, when we have sex, our magic intertwines, and it feels like more. Muggles just don’t have that."

Everyone remained silent, and all agreed internally that the Wizarding World needed serious oversight from now on. The threat was very real.

"That doesn’t mean you have to insult and kill us," Natasha finally said.

"No, of course not. Many wizards agree with you," Star replied quickly. "Especially those born from Muggles. But their voices are rarely relevant. The Potters were one of the few old families who spoke for equality. They’re hated for it by the purebloods.” 

"Enough about the past—and useless things like sex," Fury broke the tense silence. "Star, you started this by lying to us. You claimed you came forward because Coulson's idea was good. Now you're saying there's no way to verify it. That means your praise and reasoning were bullshit. It makes me question everything else."

Star blinked, surprised at the sudden paranoia. "Oh, you're good," she said. "But I didn’t lie. You all misunderstood me. What I meant was, I never considered the person behind the Surrey incident and Azkaban are the same —not the energy thing you’ve been going on about."

"Person?" Fury raised an eyebrow. "Why couldn’t it be some object or artifact?"

"Oh, I assure you, it was a person. Magic isn't something you can just bottle up and unleash like a bomb later," Star replied.

Fury’s mind raced through the implications, and after a moment, he grudgingly nodded in understanding.

Coulson, seeing the nod, added, "So, the person of interest we’re looking for is this bodyguard fellow. Arcturus Black is the Regent of House Potter, and he’ll likely move to gain custody of Harry Potter. So, Director Fury, we have no choice but to find him and ask a few questions."

Star snorted, barely suppressing his laughter. "He's not someone you can just meet, Coulson. But don’t let me stop you. I’ll even point out the entrance to our magical alley. You can go to Gringotts, exchange dollars for Galleons, and send an owl to Lord Black. It’d be entertaining to watch."

"So even though he’s worked with our predecessors before, he’ll ignore us now?" Fury asked.

"Of course, he will. For your information, it was Charlus Potter who dragged him to muggle affairs and not m..” Star stopped for a second before saying “Arturus black.” 

"I see," Fury said. "Now, what’s the real fallout of this attack on the magical side? I know there’s tension between the non-magical and magical governments. What about the international front? Will there be a any danger of war?"

Star looked thoughtful before answering.

Star looked thoughtful. "Hard to say, as of now. The ICW is angry at Britain for the massive breach of the Statute, but since Dumbledore is the Supreme Mugwump, they won’t take real action. Just noise. MACUSA, though... that’s another matter. If things like this keep happening, they’ll try to intervene—just like their Muggle counterparts. MACUSA’s been waiting for an excuse to position itself as a global magical superpower. But after Grindelwald personally killed one of their Lords of Magic  and used an Obscurus, they’ve been cautious. They only made noise during the Dark Lord’s rampage in the '70s. Still, don’t worry. As long as Dumbledore lives, there won’t be any open wars as you fear."   

Natasha snorted. "That’s a lot of trust in an old man who just got outplayed by a no-name bodyguard days ago, based on a victory decades ago in his prime."

Star noticed Fury and Coulson nodding in agreement with Natasha.

“Oh, honey. You are fooled by the façade he has put up. With his magical strength, Albus could easily live up to 300 without any problem, all the while remaining active and fighting. The fact that all the magical lords in the last couple of centuries died due to fighting or other causes made current wizards forget the simple fact of how long-lived they are.

Then there’s the matter of magical knowledge. Albus was a prodigy when he was in school, and he must have forgotten more about magic than even I have learned. Many people think Dumbledore is revered just because he defeated Grindelwald. But the truth is, Dumbledore is not revered because he defeated Grindelwald—he is feared across the world because he defeated Gellert Grindelwald alive, without critically injuring him, while eight other magical lords died trying to kill him, all the while their duel destroyed a city that the muggles written off as bombed heavily.”

"That explains a lot of things, even when it shouldn’t," Natasha said—and she was right. She had enough knowledge to realize that skill and experience are the true saviors when power is almost equal.

"So, just like in the Muggle world where nuclear weapons act as deterrents, here people themselves are the deterrents," Fury said after some thought. "So what is it that you want from this? Is this a method of containing the backlash should it get out of hand? Technology has grown greatly in the last couple of years, and the world is getting smaller and smaller."

Star acknowledged that.

"What I want is for your people to keep an eye on Harry Potter in the Muggle world. I heard news that one of the old families liquidated their entire vault of Galleons into Muggle money. After some heavy reconnaissance—it would start a goblin-wizard war if it comes to attention—I identified it as House Potter. Whoever did that wants to use it to buy influence and meddle in the Muggle world. Also, only Harry Potter himself going to Gringotts—the wizarding bank—would be able to carry out such a high-level transaction. Now, I can track the U.S. dollars myself, but that would mean breaking MACUSA laws, Muggle laws, and several others. So I thought, why should I waste my time learning the Muggle banking system when I know a super-spy agency that could look into it?"

"So you want us to be glorified accountants for some dollars?" Natasha asked in derision.

"Oh, honey, I may not know the true value, but the Potters were always rich—and it would be dozens of millions of dollars. With that amount of money and a few well-placed charms, anything could be achieved in muggle world. My department will not allow that. The Muggle and magical worlds remain separated so we can concentrate on magical innovation and greater developments."

"Money has always been one form of power," Coulson said. "And House Potter still holds 5% of Stark Industries. The profits and growth over the last decades have been humongous.

"I’ll assign a team to look into sudden investments with Potter involvement," Fury said. "But I still can’t see why a ten-year-old boy would do this, or what he could possibly achieve with this insane movements and his lack of knowledge."

"Oh, Director Fury, that’s one of the biggest mistakes. Never see Harry Potter as just an ordinary ten-year-old boy. Magic is the ultimate game-changer. He could have future visions. He could have a nudge to invest. He could have the Dark Lord’s memories, or he could be a reincarnation. Anything is possible even for almost normal wizards, let alone one of the anomalies who survived the Killing Curse," Star said.

"So why couldn’t it be Harry himself who was behind the Surrey incident and the Azkaban one? You say he could have visions, a nudge, Dark Lord’s memories, but you still haven’t considered that he might be behind both." Fury snapped back. 

"Well, we’re almost sure that it was Harry himself behind the Surrey incident. The amount of magic unleashed there was only possible by one of the Lords of Magic. And there is almost zero chance Harry will not be a Magical Lord. The thing is, Fate and Magic would give a freebie like unleashing such power in a 10-year-old body once without it being destroyed, but it’s not possible to do that again without maturing. So the Azkaban incident is almost impossible. Also, we’ve analyzed the fighting style using memories of the Dark Lord and other prominent figures from history—nothing matches it."

"So you have a ten-year-old with boatloads of money and power, with an unknown motive. You have walking magical nukes who can do anything. You have an American magical government that’s jealous of its Muggle counterpart’s success in being the global bully and is itching to take that role. Seems like you guys are too much headache to bother with and need some Oversight from the normal people." Fury said. There was a cunning gleam in Fury’s eyes that Coulson recognized—as if testing something.

There was a snort of derision from Star. Seeing Fury as serious as ever, Star erupted into laughter. It went on for minutes before it suddenly stopped like it had been shut down.

"Director Fury, I hope you were joking, because you will never win. When the first atom bomb hit Japan, wizards had already started designing wards and other methods to stay safe from it. Even before you guys ever reached global consensus, the wizarding world would have already won. Even with whatever mutants or enhanced you could add to your side, it would be a waste. As I said, those blessed by Lady Magic are Lady Gaea’s favorites, and if her other, lesser children tried to end the bigger ones that give her power, she would end you herself. Earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes, floods—it would be an Apocalypse. And finally, the wizarding world will unite, and Gellert Grindelwald’s dream will come true."

"I see you’ve underestimated us. SHIELD is not a regular government agency. Anyway, we’re not a war-making agency but a peacekeeping one. Make sure you keep your side clean, and I’ll make sure no one from ours interferes," Fury said.

Star just shrugged.

"This meeting has gone on long enough. Now I want to know how we can contact you—and not like this again. It won’t be tolerated."

"If you have anything important," Star said, taking out a piece of parchment, "write on this. I have the duplicate, which will receive the message. Or, if it's less urgent, send an owl if you can."

"So the magical side doesn’t have mobile phones? Seems a bit historical and archaic," Natasha said mockingly.

Star just snorted. "We don’t need mobile phones to talk when we can just be there in seconds—or use Floo Powder to communicate. Speaking of that—bye. See how I can appear where I want within minutes?"

Star apparated twice around the room with loud cracks to demonstrate, then vanished with a bigger crack.

All three were bewildered at the apparent ability.

They remained silent as Fury started speaking using American Sign Language, which all three were proficient in.

"So that happened," Natasha signed, her body showing her exhaustion.

Coulson also looked at Fury and signed, What are your orders?

Fury had seen another paper under the parchment Star gave him. It was a map showing the Diagon Alley location and instructions for entering.

Fury showed it to Coulson and signed, Go check it out and bring back some knowledge. Look for any people we could recruit—or at least befriend.

Coulson and Natasha nodded.

What about Harry Potter and the other things? Coulson signed.

Fury thought for a moment.

You check our side here, just in case. But since it was converted to American dollars, I’ll assign Maria Hill to check on the U.S. side when I reach there.

Coulson nodded, then asked, What about Black? That man could be a source who could solve this quickly. Should we try to contact him anyway?

Fury was silent for a few moments and then nodded. Try sending an owl anyway. If there’s no response, I’ll try to contact a special person from the '40s to reach out.

======================================== 

Black Castle. 

 Arcturus Black looked at his image in the mirror he had conjured. The mirror floated in the air without any support above the table, and he sat in his custom-made, throne-like chair. He observed his face and could see the crow's feet vanishing slowly. The age that had once been etched into his body was gradually fading, and he cursed himself for letting himself go.

Ever since his family had destroyed itself, he had been in self-exile and depression. His own magic was making his wish come true, and the Black family magic had punished him for abandoning his duty. He would have died early, and his family nearly gone extinct. Now, because of one boy’s actions, he could see improvement. He also wondered how much more the SS serum Harry had offered would help him regain his vitality and youth.

There had been no contact from Harry after their last meeting, except for the suggestion to start recruiting for the potion business. Arcturus was surprised at the cleverness of the Muggleborn, Lily, who had finally found a way to make potions non-lethal to Muggles. Many had tried in the past, even before the Statute of Secrecy, and none had succeeded.

“And now her child is going to exploit it,” he whispered. The reaction would be hilarious to see.

Anyway, Arcturus was waiting for the first recruit for the potion business—and what better opportunity to unite his broken family!

Andromeda Tonks

She looked at the invitation in dread as the time for the Portkey approached. It was a letter inviting her and her Muggleborn husband, Ted Tonks, to the Black Castle, sent by her grandfather, the Lord Black. Ever since she had seen the old man active again and inquiring about the Blacks, she had dreaded this moment.

“Honey, we don’t have to go if you’re this tense about meeting your grandfather,” Ted Tonks said, hugging Andromeda from the side.

“Oh? You don’t know my grandfather, dear husband. If we don’t attend now, the next thing will be his damn bodyguard tearing down the wards and dragging us to him.”

Ted paled at that, thinking about the images he had seen in the Prophet—their fight against Dumbledore himself.

“Then let’s not wait any longer. Let’s go now,” Ted said, with the smile he usually wore in court.

========================

Andromeda swallowed hard as the wards of Black Castle washed over her, the ancient magic tingling against her skin. Beside her, she felt Ted shiver at the sensation.

"That was unpleasant," Ted muttered at her side.

"Yeah, that’s the Black family wards for you," Andromeda replied, just as they were greeted by a house-elf.

"Come, guests of Lord Black. Lord Black waits in his solar," the elf croaked as he walked, leading them.

"Come. Guests of Lord Black. Lord Black waits in his solar," the elf croaked, turning to lead them inside.

Ted raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. Elves usually showed more respect to guests.

"That’s the Black family for you, husband," Andromeda said with a mocking smile. "Even the house-elf is prideful and just disrespectful enough."

Andromeda observed the castle—one she had walked through in her younger days only a couple dozen times—and remembered her companions then: her sisters and cousins.

Now, only Sirius remained loyal enough to her.

They entered the solar, a chamber that wouldn’t have been out of place in a king’s court.

Andromeda gasped—not out of familial love, respect, or even hate—but because of how young the man looked. Far younger than the aged, decaying image she had seen in the papers recently.

“Ah, welcome, Andromeda and husband. I’m glad you accepted the invitation,” Lord Black said smoothly.

Andromeda scoffed. “As if we had a choice. I’m sure you would have sent your new bodyguard if we hadn’t shown up. Lord Black, let’s skip the pleasantries and get to the point.”

She watched as the smile on Lord Black’s face vanished, hidden behind the shields of Occlumency.

“Yes, time is precious,” he said. “It’s your lucky day, Andromeda. And for your family. I’ve decided that you will be reinstated into House Black. Your husband will take the Black name, along with young Nymphadora. You both will work for the family—your services as a Potions Mistress and as a lawyer are needed immediately.”

Andromeda saw her husband gasp in surprise, anger flashing in his eyes at the sheer audacity. Even she felt her Occlumency shields beginning to crack under the force of her fury.

“Are you out of your mind, Grandfather?” she snarled. “House Black rejected me and my husband. Everything we have, we built with our own blood, sweat, and tears. And now you want us to give all that up to work for you? You’ve done nothing for me in all these years—and no, I don’t want to be Andromeda Black again. I like the name Andromeda Tonks very much. And how do you even plan to reinstate me? I know it’s not possible once someone is magically cast out of the family.”

“I agree with my wife, Lord Black,” Ted said calmly, though his voice was tight. “I don’t need any patronage from an old family. I’m a successful lawyer in both the Muggle and magical worlds.”

Lord Black looked at both of them, then sighed tiredly.

“Well, you both look tense, and I can see this will be a heavy conversation. Have some Ogden’s Finest and relax, granddaughter,” he said with a smirk as firewhisky and two crystal tumblers appeared on the table.

Ted’s eyes widened at the year and quality of the bottle. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for the glass and took a sip, savoring the burn. Sighing, Andromeda took her own glass as well.

“Now, dear Andromeda,” Lord Black said, “I don’t know how you never noticed, but unlike Narcissa, you were not magically disinherited. Only legally. The fact that young Nymphadora inherited metamorphmagus abilities should have been your clue. Or did you think it came from your dear husband’s Black blood?”

His smirk widened as pure shock settled over their faces.

“Oh? You didn’t know?” he drawled. “Dear Ted here is descended from one of the Black squibs—one lucky enough to be abandoned in the Muggle world rather than quietly killed in an ‘accident’ two centuries ago. Perhaps both of your bloodlines blessed her with the metamorphmagus gift.”

Andromeda shook her head, and Ted whispered, “We had no idea we were related at all.”

Lord Black merely shrugged. “Perhaps your magics called out to each other—allowing a metamorphmagus to be born. Anyway, Andromeda, you say I’ve done nothing for you, but that’s ignorance. Do you think the only known metamorphmagus in Britain is still alive and free because the world is filled with good people?”

Andromeda’s shock gave way to anger. “What are you talking about? It took our considerable skill to protect her from those criminals. You did nothing. It was our wards and wandwork that saved her when she was seven.”

Lord Black snorted and laughed, his disbelief obvious. Seeing no comprehension in their eyes, he calmed himself and, for a moment, looked genuinely surprised.

“I see. You really have no idea what metamorphmagus abilities truly are—or how dangerous it is for someone so young to be publicly known as one. Let me educate you. The ‘criminals’ you fought off were hired by me—from the weakest gang my men could find. It was meant to be a warning, not a threat. You were never truly in danger because I made sure no real criminals or slavers would reach her.

There were five serious attempts by competent people. My own sworn mercenaries eliminated each one. I even paid personal visits to the leaders of those groups—the ones in the sexual, assassination, and spy guilds. It took five bodies before I extracted magical contracts guaranteeing Nymphadora’s safety.”

He smirked again at their stunned expressions.

“Then we thank you from the bottom of our hearts, Lord Black,” Andromeda said stiffly, “but that’s still not a reason to expect us to throw away our lives and careers to serve you.”

“I wasn’t finished, my dear granddaughter,” Lord Black said with the same mocking tone. “Now tell me, what does young Nymphadora want to do after her seventh year? That is this year, correct?”

“Yes,” Andromeda said hesitantly. “This is her seventh year. She wants to join the Auror Corps.”

A hiss of displeasure escaped Lord Black.

“Well then, you have until the end of the year to convince her to reconsider. If she insists, she must take a gap year and train. Because if she joins the Aurors straightaway, she will be targeted—kidnapped, used.”

“What about the contracts you made with those guilds?” Ted asked cautiously.

“Oh, those agreements clearly state defense clauses. They won’t touch her unless she becomes an Auror. Then she’s fair game. And I wasn’t talking about those third-rate thugs.What do you think a metamorphmagus really is?”

Both Andromeda and Ted offered the standard explanation of self-transfiguration.

“Enough,” Lord Black cut in. “That’s the most basic understanding. The truth is, a metamorphmagus who fully trains their abilities becomes functionally immortal. They can change their aging, regenerate from nearly any wound—provided their body has resources. They can store anything within their body, augment their biology, and improve their bodily functions through knowledge and training. And as you know, witches and wizards grow more powerful with age. A fully trained metamorphmagus will ascend to the level of a magical lord. They, like elementals, are blessed directly by Lady Magic.”

Lord black finished with absolute calmness and not a trace of mocking laughter.  Both Andromeda and Ted had looks of horror as they recognised how lucky they have been.

“So my dear granddaughter and Mr tonks,  there was three reasons, some dark lord or would be dark lords hadn’t kidnapped her and sacrificed her in dark ritual to obtain her gift,  first is Cassiopia Black the last metamorph of House Black. she was the second in command of Gellert Grindelwald and she had issued a protection to her niece. The other is the first Nymphdora Black the first Metamorph of our family and even I don’t know how old she is.  She warned almost all her peer immortals and the Dark lords around the world. I personally have to call her and request her for that. The next is, headmaster Albus Dumbledore of -course. I am pretty sure he used Ted Tonks as his lawyer for several times only to show his support of your family over and above his usual protection of Britain.”

“Why did no one tell us?” Andromeda whispered.

“Because it’s not common knowledge. Only the truly knowledgeable understand the nature of metamorphmagi. But once she’s no longer a child—once she’s out in the open—those protections will fall away.”

He looked directly at them.

“That’s why she needs the Black name. It will offer her continued protection while she learns. She can help you in our new ventures as well. She needs to disappear for a while after Hogwarts if she wants a real chance at survival.”

Andromeda looked at Ted, searching his eyes.

“Lord Black,” Ted said, “I can’t just give up my Muggle practice. I have contracts, retainers, partners—”

“Oh, Tonks,” Lord Black interrupted, “you missed my point. I want to hire you in both worlds—Muggle and magical. In fact, your Muggle practice will be critical to our future business.”

Andromeda gasped. “You, Lord Black, are going into Muggle business?”

He smiled enigmatically. “All will be revealed. After a few oaths. Let me put it this way—what we are planning will be revolutionary. I am also acting as Regent for House Potter. Here, Potions Mistress Andromeda—look at this formula and tell me what you think it does.”

Andromeda studied it carefully, her Occlumency shields working at full capacity. She reworked it three times before finally accepting her initial conclusion.

“This is… This is impossible,” she said in awe.

“Yes, it should be,” Lord Black replied. “But Lily Potter did the impossible. She discovered this while in hiding. Harry found it in her vault and plans to use it.”

“His plans?” Andromeda snapped. “Do you take me for a fool? You’re clearly exploiting the boy!”

Lord Black snorted and laughed loudly.

“Oh, Andromeda. You’ve got a lot to catch up on. Harry is special. He was my hidden bodyguard. He brought me Peter Pettigrew to free his godfather. Harry sat in this very castle and threatened me to move for Sirius. If what I suspect is true, he’s had visions of the future—visions stuck in his mind due to natural Occlumency. He’s a magical lord in his own right. The future will be… interesting. So, let’s begin the reinstatement process. Shall we, Andromeda?”

“Yes, Grandfather. Let’s do it,” she said softly. “Ted, please… we must comply. For Nymphadora.”

“For Nymphadora,” Ted replied, voice firm with resolve.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

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ADS 33

Chapter 33: A Game of Magic II

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

93 AC

Braavos

Bessaro Reyaan

He looked at the assembled keyholders of the Iron Bank and sighed in tiredness, as even a demon like himself could feel the mental fatigue of playing a role like this for so long. The entire Braavos was in chaos at the audacity of the Dragonking to send dragons over Essos again and burn both Myr and Tyrosh. They were confused whether to cheer for the burning of slavers or vilify him for using authority and power in Essos, where all the dragonlords and dragons had once been killed off.

Bessaro had not even believed the Old King would dare to do this—breaking their agreement from all those years ago. The current Bessaro may have been known as his father those days, but curse his immortality, he still remembers the meeting like it was yesterday.  Bessaro had laughed hard upon seeing a Valyrian dragonlord sending a fucking septon, of all things, as his hand to deal with Braavos. The warning may have been hidden in honeyed words, but Bessaro knew what it was—and he had to respond, alluding to the Faceless Men. Luckily for everyone, an agreement was reached and no dragon would fly over Essos again. The Old King had promised not to interfere with Essosi politics at all. The implied threat on both sides had been understood.

 For Braavos, it was the Faceless Men. For the Old King, it was Balerion.

Bessaro wondered why it was now that the Old King had so horribly violated their agreement. Maybe he thought that since the deal was with his father and not written down like the trade agreements, they wouldn’t know—or maybe the Old King had found something to deal with the Faceless Men again. Bessaro knew Balerion wouldn't last long in this world, as he could feel the magic dying if he concentrated hard enough. That had been the Old King’s trump card, and it had made him cautious.

‘So what happened to make the Old King gamble now? Had arrogance and vain pride finally gotten to his head?’ Bessaro wondered.

For a century and a half, Bessaro had been the most powerful man in Braavos—the First Keyholder of the Iron Bank and the hidden Leader of the Faceless Men. The Sealord of Braavos, usually the third most powerful man, was present in this meeting. And even with all his influence, Bessaro knew the position of Sealord had been gathering strength over the years. The people of Braavos gave their respect to the Sealord depending on who held the office, while the Iron Bank and the Faceless Men were increasingly hated and vilified. The respect they once had for ending the dreaded dragonlords of Valyria had long since faded. The masses no longer believed those tales, calling them gossip and rumor.

Many a Braavosi had been bankrupted by the Bank’s interest rates—but it wasn’t because of him.

“Fucking incompetent, prideful fools,” Bessaro cursed inwardly, as he understood how politics had shifted in Braavos. Fools blamed the Bank for their own mistakes, which had landed them in destitution. Consequently many cursed the Keyholders and none more than the oldest and the founder; The Bessaro’s.  In the last year alone he had to write off two debts, of influential Braavosi families, in terms of money to some other favour, because threatening them with Faceless Men would have lead to a mutiny.   

All the while The Office of the Sealord increased reputation and the current leader solidified it.  Bessaro wondered whether it was time for some re-election. 

“First Keyholder!” the angry voice of the Sealord echoed above the shouting. “What say you? Should Braavos be silent as the Old King dares to send an open threat of conquest to every city—including Braavos? How fucking dare he! I would have celebrated the burning of slaver scum and the chaos in the Narrow Sea, but even imagining the audacity to send such a message to Braavos makes my blood boil—like every Braavosi’s. We need to answer this threat!”

Bessaro frowned at the tone but remained composed. He didn’t want to start something now.

“And what do you suggest, respected Sealord? Declare war on the Seven Kingdoms?” Bessaro asked sarcastically.

Sealord spluttered at that. 

The Sealord spluttered at that.

“What? No, not a war. It would affect us as well. What about increased taxes?”

“That would not be very effective,” Bessaro replied. “They would retaliate by increasing their own taxes, and it would just be posturing. The threat is mainly to the slavers, and we are blessed Free Men. I have men in the Three Whores, and there are whispers of an alliance between them. We will make that possible by ensuring it remains equitable—perhaps by making some changes in Lys's leadership. Let them join together and prepare their fleets.”

The Sealord looked thoughtful as he processed that.

“Yes, Keyholder. That is better than us Braavosi shedding our money, tears, and blood. And we still have the Pentoshi problem. They've been getting uppity, and we must prepare to cut down their arrogance.”

Bessaro nodded.

The meeting went on for some time, and after it ended, Bessaro traveled to his true home—the House of Black and White.

It was the annual meeting of his oldest faces to decide what must be done to preserve their supposed divine duty. Bessaro smirked at the thought as the fools who had made the pact entered the underground meeting room.

There was an ironwood table around which chairs were placed, and everyone sat down.

Bessaro inhaled sharply as his magic slowly snaked into his Faces. He was quite irate and decided to just be done with it—taking over instead of conducting the farce of a meeting.

Every single person except Bessaro froze as if asleep. They all slumped in various positions around the table. One by one, his mind entered one face after another, and his demonic power consumed their entire memories.

He snarled, as his own plans had been thwarted—mainly in Westeros.

“Fucking barbarian scum,” Bessaro whispered.

One of his Faces in Dragonstone hadn’t reported back for three moons, and Bessaro couldn’t feel the connection even when he concentrated. That Face had been tasked with keeping an eye on both the castle and the Cannibal. He thought back to any memories sent by the Face—but it was blank.

“Another one has to be sent,” he said to the face that managed deployments. The command was rooted deep in that face, as if from the Many-Faced God himself—and when they awoke, it would be processed as such.

Another problem Bessaro noted was the increased magic in the North—mainly in Winterfell. There had even been difficulty poisoning one guard in Wintertown, though the Face had succeeded as usual.

Bessaro reviewed the entire matter of the Northmen over the last decades, and the increase in magical abilities was evident. He didn’t have to wonder long to identify the true source of this much improvement.

Daemon Snow.

“Fucking dragon lovers,” Bessaro cursed, feeling regret that he hadn’t ordered his death all those years ago. The navigation method they had found was mind magic—but they couldn’t replicate it.

Bessaro looked through his collected memories to locate the bastard, and the latest information was that he was traveling.

“He must be killed. His soul is needed by the Many-Faced God,” Bessaro declared, planting the order into one of his faces—Jaqen H’ghar, the face who usually wandered through Westeros for information and assassinations.

--------------------------------------------------------

95 AC

Braavos

Unlike the last several years, Bessaro was not irate at this annual meeting of his faces. His own movements in the Three Whores had been a success, and the Triarchy was born. Even though they were outwardly silent, the hatred against the dragons burned brighter every day.

Bessaro was pleased that he hadn’t even had to do all the work. The followers of the Red Demon were helpful enough to spread tales of the "enemy of mankind" in the North of Westeros far and wide. Their preaching had reached an otherworldly level, and any slaves of northern origin were now highly expensive. The Red Priests sacrificed anyone of northern blood to the fire after purchasing them for any amount of gold.

The slavers easily believed the tales, as they hated the Westerosi for the audacity of the Old King burning their cities. The three cities had made peace outwardly with the Old King—but peace was nothing more than preparation for war.

Bessaro knew this truth very personally, having prepared for so long to cause the Doom. Now it seemed he would have to prepare again—for the foolish Targaryens. He had thought the Andals and the stupid Faith with their magic hate would have dealt with them by now, but it deeply annoyed him that they too were following in his footsteps of preparation.

His thoughts were broken as he felt another of his connections die painfully. Ever since discovering the death of the Face in Dragonstone, he had been monitoring the severance of links closely—and now this was the third one since.

He sighed in annoyance, realizing it was the one in the North—who had gotten too close to Lyanna Mormont, the daughter of Daemon Snow.

“Fucking cave bear and her use of monsters as pets,” he cursed to himself.

At least Bessaro could now confirm what had made the Old King act in Essos: Daemon Snow, his grandson.

The Old King must have known about the magical abilities—and gambled that it would be enough to withstand the assassins. The healing and the supposed blessing of gods.

Bessaro snarled.

“Well, it seems new resources must be allocated for the enemy to be killed immediately.”

----------------------------------------------

 94 AC

Kingslanding

The Crown Prince

Baelon snarled and almost threw the invaluable dragonglass candle against the wall in anger, as he got nothing from the mind of his grand-niece, Lyanna.

The girl still didn’t know where his cursed nephew was. The only thing he gathered was that Daemon was somewhere in the South or even in Essos, traveling. Ever since the death of Aemon and his nephew stealing his revenge, Baelon had been searching for him. Even the ashes of thousands couldn’t smother his rage or sadness.

Baelon was cursing the gods, his nephew, and his damned father when the king entered the office without knocking or announcing himself. Baelon’s face curled in disgust and anger at the sight of his father and his machinations. The forced Crown Prince position and everything else had been too much. Any courtesy or fear Baelon once had for the old king had ended with the death of Balerion, and so Baelon didn’t even rise from his chair when the king entered.

“What do you want?” Baelon asked curtly. He saw the king’s impassive face observing him closely. Fortunately for the king, his father didn’t press the issue of courtesy.

“Baelon, how many times have you failed in finding my grandson’s whereabouts? It is time you ended this quest and left him be. Is the mind of a little girl that attractive to you?” the king mocked.

Baelon snarled in fury and snapped.

“I am not spending my time in Lyanna’s mind. I was pursuing others and only entered it twice before today. I couldn’t risk it again. That mind has been getting protection after protection—just like that bastard’s mind.”

The king looked surprised for a moment, but the impassiveness returned quickly.

“Impressive indeed and as expected from one of my great-grandchild. I indulged your quest for two years, and now Balerion is dead. It’s time to stop this madness and concentrate on other matters. You are the Crown Prince, and I made it possible to quench your thirst for vengeance. I don’t understand why you're so obsessed. Targaryen blood avenged Targaryen blood. End of the matter,” the king said, sighing in exasperation.

Baelon looked struck for a moment before replying.

“Stop? I will never stop looking for him. You ask why? Then let me educate the great king about what happened when Aemon met Daemon in Winterfell—and what I know. Daemon warned Aemon that he must always stay on Caraxes or beneath him. He knew Aemon would die in Myr. Similarly, he warned Rhaenys that she would be the Queen Who Never Was if she married Corlys. But Rhaenys, in her foolishness and hubris, thought it was Daemon’s clever manipulation.”

Baelon could see the mocking smirk vanish from the king’s face as he grasped the meaning.

“Daemon mocked Aemon about House Targaryen’s losses is because he was left behind in Winterfell. Daemon could have saved so many—and he didn’t. That is forgivable if he didn’t know they needed saving. But the truth is—he knew. He could have saved my sisters and brothers and did nothing with his abilities. That is unforgivable. He can see the future—or must have visions. And yet he did nothing to save his own blood. I must find him. I must know—who will I lose next? Which of my sons will die—by accident or be killed like my dear brother? I must protect them, and I need that bastard for that. It doesn’t matter if I have to threaten him with Vhagar, or if I must keep him in the Black Cells—he will cooperate with me.”

The king was silent for many heartbeats. Baelon gasped, drawing harsh breaths after his outburst.

“I see, Baelon. What you just informed me confirms my own suspicions. Leave Daemon alone for now. He must remain free,” the king commanded, and even Baelon's rage was momentarily smothered by the sheer presence of the old king.

It took him some time to shake off that commanding aura, but Baelon was no longer a young man. He was a father and a hardened warrior.

He just shook his head and said, “It will not happen, Father. I will continue doing what I must.”

The old king sighed, his shoulders dropping as his commanding presence faded. Age had caught up with him once again.

“Baelon, it seems I must begin another lesson—for two reasons. So that you will understand why I am ordering this, and because now Balerion is dead.”

Baelon looked intrigued, though still annoyed that the king hadn’t dropped the matter.

“Tell me, Baelon, how do you think we became the last dragonlord family after the Doom? You, like every learned man, know that several dragonlords in Essos were killed by poison, infighting, and rebellions,” the king snorted. “As if. Do you really think Lys would still stand if a dragonrider was killed while his dragon was in the city—or nearby? Those behemoths? And the people of Lys, the most Valyrian besides us—would they dare strike a dragonlord knowing our power and cruelty? No. It was assassination—by two parties. The Faceless Men of Braavos, and the Red Priests of R’hllor. Faceless Men for the dragonlords, and shadowbinders and poisons of R’hllor for the dragons.

So, my son, tell me—how did House Targaryen overcome this? How did we alone survive?”

Baelon looked shocked as he processed the information, but shook his head—he had no true answer.

The king continued.

“We survived by luck and by chance, Baelon. Luck—because it took nearly a dozen years after the Doom before we became the last dragonlords. And chance—because that delay allowed our enemies be blind to us before finally turn their eyes to us on Dragonstone. It gave Balerion time to grow into his true power—enough to kill every single magic-user who came to Dragonstone, unless they belonged to our house or sworn to us. Balerion claimed the entire island—he could sense magic and people alike.

It took dozens of ships, incinerated by the Black Dread, before they finally stopped trying.”.

Baelon was intrigued by the new knowledge but couldn’t see what it had to do with his quest for Daemon Snow.

The King continued, “ There was understanding that we were not interested in Essos in the Century of Blood and Aegon’s conquest consolidated that view. It was a reluctant truce for a long time until my sisters folly allowed three dragon eggs to the hands of the Bravoosi. The Braavosi threatened me using the Faceless Men and I returned the favour with Balerion.  War and annihilation was  barely avoided after I reached an agreement giving me enough time to curse the three eggs to be turned into stone.  One of that agreement was for there to have no dragonfire used in Essos and to never conquer Essos.

Baelon looked shocked. “But I flew over Essos. I violated the agreements.”

“And now, Balerion is dead.”  The King said as if to make Baelon remember  that crucial fact too.

Baelon spluttered, “What? Wha… this is…”

“Don’t worry. I don’t think the Faceless Men will be sent, nor will hostilities begin. Times have changed—or I have made them change. Years of songs, rumors, and false information—spread by our ancestors and even by me—have turned the Faceless Men into a hated and feared organization. Add to that the fact the Sea Lord holds more power than the keyholders now—it's a different world than it was decades ago.”

“And what does any of this have to do with my pursuit of my cursed nephew?” Baelon snapped.

“Oh, Baelon. I thought you were clever enough to grasp it yourself. Daemon has demonstrated extraordinary abilities—both physical and magical. If the Faceless were foolish enough to start a purge of the last dragonlord blood, it would include Daemon and his children too. I would make sure that the news reached Daemon’s ears—before even the first Targaryen is dead. He would have no choice but to ensure our enemies die and if Daemon failed to kill off Faceless Men within the death of the entire true line, He will be the backup for making sure my blood continues even if we all die to our enemies.”

“What?” Baelon snapped. “That’s it? You want that bastard—who doesn’t give a fuck about his blood—to care for us and kill our enemies? Wait...”

Baelon’s eyes widened as a surprising thought struck him.

“Are you implying that you gave the order to burn Myr and Tyrosh only because of Daemon? If he had no powers—would you have done nothing The old king’s impassiveness snapped into rage. A harsh slap on the table echoed, silencing Baelon.

“Enough, son. You think I would allow such disrespect from those slaving scum to House Targaryen? I would have done the same—Daemon or no Daemon. Even now, I know how to ensure our blood survives—even without him. A King should be clever enough to use anything to the betterment of his House and realm, Baelon and I know how to make use of my grandson even without his awareness.”

Baelon remained silent.

The old king sighed, looking at the Crown Prince.

“I see you will not stop looking for Daemon. Do as you will—but beware. You are not to harm one of my blood for any reason except direct, willful harm to anyone named Targaryen. If you find him—and I doubt you will—you may coerce, beguile, manipulate, or damn well even seduce him to get your knowledge. But there will be no threats or willful harm done to Daemon. We have no need for new enemies right now—especially not from within our own blood. Do you understand?” the king asked grimly.

Baelon swallowed his anger and nodded, knowing that anything else would be quite detrimental to him.

======================================================

94 AC

Oldtown

Lord Hightower

He sighed in annoyance as he read the latest letter from his son Otto. Sending Otto to squire for Ser Ryam was the best decision he had made in the sacred quest every Hightower undertakes in their life—

the eradication of magic and the salvation of mankind.

Otto had spread his roots among Prince Rhaenys and Prince Viserys, and had influence with several nobles of the court. Ever since the maesters lost their spy in the Grand Maester, Hightower had kept away from the Citadel. He had even served loyally when Prince Baelon came to punish the Citadel, confiscate the glass candles, seize books on magic, and raid the vaults to their hearts’ content. The Enlightened had made several requests of him then and even afterward, but he had distanced himself further, claiming they must be patient for a few decades.

Fortunately, only the paranoid Lords of the South and the entire North had actually rejected the maesters' service after the Old King rescinded the Crown’s protection and revoked the order to have a maester in every castle or keep. Even though diminished, the maesters’ wings had spread farther than they had before the Conquest. But it was all for nothing if the dragons were not tamed—and his son had done good work there.

“Father,” the sound of his heir snapped him from his thoughts.

“What is the latest news from The Red Keep?”

“It is bad, my son. Otto has confirmed that Prince Baelon, who once showed the exemplary character of a king, has become increasingly volatile and temperamental. According to your brother, Baelon is for some reason on a quest to find his bastard nephew and has grown far crueler in his punishments out of frustration and anger at his failures. Furthermore, Otto has confirmed that he has no chance to influence the future king in any matter. Prince Viserys is the only one who shows promise.”

“Why is the Prince looking for a northern bastard? And… should we hasten Prince Viserys’s ascension?”

“Enough,” Lord Hightower snapped. “You shall never voice that thought aloud. You wish to assassinate a prince of the blood? The last assassination ended one of the ancient lines and killed thousands of Essosi scum in the fallout. No, we did not come this far by being fools. The majority of nobles may dismiss the reason behind Connington’s madness and his confession to the realm, but the clever few have now  heard the same rumors of the Ghost of Prince Aemon. Otto believes Baelon suspects his bastard nephew is this Ghost, meaning the boy infiltrated the castle and killed everyone while making the foolish griffin confess.  There can be no other reason for Baelon’s rage and his almost insane desire to find this boy.”

His son looked suitably chastised by the foolish idea of assassination and surprised at the implications. It filled him with pride that his heir was not a fool, one who dismissed tales without considering the possibility.

“Father, if I may—what should we do now? The Citadel has been growing louder in its protests. Our spies report the Order of the Enlightened meets almost weekly now and has sent many men to all corners of the world to collect knowledge for the tomes they lost in the dragon’s wrath.”

“Nothing, my son. Nothing. We carry on as we are until the opportunity presents itself. Otto has ensured he has a good relationship with both heirs to the throne, even though he supports Viserys more and more as time passes. If something were to happen to Prince Baelon, Otto is sure that—should the Old King be too infirm—there will be discontent surrounding the succession. We will wait and Pray to the seven for another good fortune like the death of the heir and see where the pieces fall.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

96 AC

Daemon Targaryen, The Rogue Prince

Daemon panted hard as Dark Sister went through another post where a strawman was built. Even after swinging the sword many times, his anger and helplessness were not quenched. The looming presence of Caraxes in his mind didn’t help matters either. The dragon was volatile at the best of times, and Daemon could still feel the fury and helplessness the dragon felt when it saw his uncle Aemon dying in front of its eyes. He moved to the next one as his thoughts wandered.

He was pragmatic and knew well enough that he was blessed by birth into the House of the Dragon. He was above almost everyone, and as a dragonlord and a warrior with a sword, he was almost without peers. But even then, the few who were above him were absolute cunts.

His grandfather, the king, bent backward for his queen to reignite a compromise and a love where none existed. His bitch of a grandmother hated him for his “stupid” name—because her firstborn son had named him Daemon after a bastard, apparently.

The latest hateful act his grandmother committed had been the breaking point for Daemon—betrothing him to that bronze bitch when Gael was present and unwedded. He deserved Valyrian blood, not some sheep from the godforsaken Vale. Still, everything came back to that bastard.

Daemon had a second father in Aemon, in how much he was cared for by him—but to know that he was only a replacement for the abandoned bastard had made him angry like nothing else. Only the death of his uncle broke him from that hate and rage. At least that shared sorrow allowed him to bond with Caraxes.

Daemon had often wondered about the bastard he was named after. A bastard who was apparently blessed by the gods and a warrior reborn. Every tale was outlandish, and half the people who heard them scoffed and spat on the ground while calling on the Seven Gods in King’s Landing—but Daemon knew some of it was the truth. After all it was that bastard’s potions that had given him his little brother Aegon.

Another thing he both loved and hated. Loved, because Aegon was his baby brother. Hated, because Aegon had taken two things from him—his mother, and the care of his elders. At least the second thing was irrelevant now, and Daemon had forgiven Aegon for it. Still, the loss of their mother wrinkled his nose whenever Aegon was present. The only good thing was that Aegon was young enough, and Daemon was subtle enough, that their brotherly bond had not been broken.

And Daemon would love and protect his brothers, as his father had taught him.

He grunted as another post was bisected and was moving toward the next one when a voice interrupted him.

"Is it dead enough?" Baelon asked as he entered the private training grounds of the royal family.

Daemon just grunted and ignored his father. Baelon sighed but continued.

"I know you’re angry at me, my son. But my hands are tied."

Daemon stopped hacking down the strawman and looked at his father, seeing tiredness and defeat etched into his entire body. His heart lurched at the sight, but he swallowed the sadness as his selfishness rose.

"Why, Father? Why must I marry a bronze bitch when I could marry Gael? If not her, then there are enough Celtigar or even Velaryon cousins who are Valyrian enough," Daemon snapped.

 Baelon looked at him in disappointment, trying to cow his son—but failed. Daemon had matured enough to overthrow such tactics.

"I see you at least deserve an explanation. The first and foremost voice behind this match is the Queen. She is afraid of you seducing Gael or even ruining her with your wicked, whoring ways. I even came to fierce argument with her in your defense, my son, when she called you the 'Rogue Prince' and other things. That is the major reason. The other is that she wanted to limit my influence. Now I have the support of the Vale through Viserys, and Rhaenys has the support of the Stormlands through the Baratheons. She wanted to limit my options by making you marry within the Vale itself. Also, there's the fact that Viserys doesn’t have a dragon after the death of Balerion. She wanted to limit your political influence should you get any ideas in the future. Foolishness at its best."

Daemon’s eyes widened as he registered the fact that his grandmother dared to even think he would betray Viserys.

"Stop. Don’t worry, my son. Such a sentence will never leave my mother’s mouth again. I made sure of that, and even the King was angry enough to ensure it by saying he would betroth Gael to anyone and make sure Alysanne would never see her again."

Daemon laughed hearing that. "Well, she deserves that. At least Gael will escape the golden prison then. Still, why couldn’t I remain free and not marry at all? I am young, and I have time."

Baelon sighed. "Your grandmother made this a part of her return and staying here with the King. The King doesn’t want to fight her on this. He was also intrigued by the idea and wanted to marry you into a First Man house. He even suggested Lyanna Mormont, but it seems your grandmother has more love toward her than her own trueborn grandson."

"Who the fuck is Lyanna Mormont?" Daemon asked in surprise.

Baelon’s eyes widened at the question. He knew Daemon had no interest in the lords of the realm, but the lack of knowledge still surprised him.

"Lyanna Mormont is the daughter of Dacey Mormont—and a bear in the woods, officially," Baelon said with a snort of laughter. Seeing the pure confusion on Daemon’s face made him laugh harder.

Before Daemon could protest, Baelon smothered his laughter and continued. "But during the stay in Winterfell for the marriage of Viserra, Lyanna—a child—walked up to Silverwing, called her 'Silvy', and petted her like a common mule. More than that, she showed no fear of dragons. And for a First Man in appearance, she had clear Valyrian inhuman beauty."

Daemon frowned hearing that. "That must have been quite a sight—seeing my beloved grandmother’s precious dragon allow another child to pet her without her presence. So, she’s my bastard cousin’s daughter? The Red Death’s? But why would the Old King want that? Marrying me—a dragonlord—to a bastard’s bastard daughter?"

Baelon ignored the barbed words toward his mother. He was disappointed that Daemon couldn’t grasp the political power play.

"Yes, Daemon. She is the daughter of Daemon Snow, son of Aemon. The Old King wanted to marry you to a First Man house because he’s wondering whether your children will be magical like Daemon Snow—son of Aemon and a lady of House Stark. And for that, who could ever be more preferred than Lyanna Mormont, the daughter of said magical child and descendant of an old First Man house like the Mormonts from her mother’s side? But the Queen was adamant that wouldn’t be and only Rhea Royce is the perfect choice for you. The Old King agreed finally lacking the will to fight over it as he didn’t want to poke both at the Queen and Daemon Snow at the same time, by ordering the betrothal.”

"So, you all believe in the magic of my bastard cousin, and not some old potions from the Starks that saved my brother? You want to experiment with me to know the validity of some rumors?" Daemon snapped. "We are Valyrians and dragonlords. What magic could one who never even saw a dragon for the first two decades of his life ever conceive? Lunacy and foolishness, I say."

Daemon stopped and closed his mouth upon seeing the furious expression on his father’s face.

"Daemon, don’t ignore what is right before you. Do you think we wouldn’t know the difference between medical concoctions and magic, my son? I have taught you some basics—and your lack of talent is not evidence enough to dismiss the magic of others. I’ve been searching for Daemon Snow ever since Aemon’s death, because the bastard foresaw it and warned Aemon in Winterfell. He warned Rhaenys that she would never be queen if she married Corlys. It was he who wiped out the entire Connington line a single day after Aemon’s death—just because Lyanna Mormont had a haunting vision of it. Daemon was in the South and yet he knew of Aemon’s death, Lyanna’s vision, and he subjugated the entire castle and killed everyone. He even sent a mocking letter to the King informing him of it. Do you think someone without magic could achieve this? No, my son. The maesters and the Faith may say magic is waning and died with the Doom...

But we—with the dragons—are the living, breathing examples of magic, my son. Don’t be a fool and dismiss it, lest you be ended by it."

Daemon lost his breath, not realizing he had been holding it—in surprise and panic at the clearly unhinged tone in his father’s voice. Daemon couldn’t even dismiss it like he did everything else, but he decided to be more wary from now on—and even help his father and elder brother more.

After all, that is the duty of a second son: to love and support the elders, as his father taught him.

======================================

Many maesters had wondered why the second son of Prince Baelon was named Daemon, when the bastard of Prince Aemon was named Daemon as well.

The tantrum of 90 AC was famous in the Red Keep, as it was only from Cregan Stark that the young prince first heard he shared a name with a bastard cousin. It was then that debates among the nobles of the court—and even the servants of the Red Keep—sparked gossip about the possible reason.

The only credible words I could gather came from the diary of Septon Barth, the disgraced Hand of the King and former friend of both the King and the Queen.

“Prince Baelon was overtly loyal to Prince Aemon, and he wished to honor his brother. Thus, he named the child Daemon—a variation of the name Aemon.”

I couldn’t fully trust the words of Septon Barth, as by the time of Prince Daemon’s birth, Barth was almost a non-entity in the Red Keep, far removed from his former power as Hand of the King and confidant of the royal couple. Only the Queen's favor allowed him to remain in King's Landing, and even then, she was exceptionally busy. The loss of her children over the years had further embittered the Queen toward the gods, a sentiment that extended to the clergy, eventually causing Barth to lose the last of his influence among the nobility.

There was a rumor that Barth had written a book on dragons during his decades of close contact with them, but no such book was ever read by another soul, nor does any record of it exist in the Great Targaryen Library or the Citadel.  

Excerpts from The Bastard King. Chapter 7: The Rogue Prince Daemon. Written by Maester Theon in 200AC

=======================================

Authors note: so here we are. my muse has been firing max and probably there would be two more chapters in may!!

 This is the landscape in 95AC-100AC..   reason for marrying daemon to rhea.   Baelon still looking but not getting any results. 

First pov of the rogue prince and I am intrigued how it will be received.  Definitely he will be different from the canon version as the history is definitely different….      Imo daemon for all his assholishness and cruelty was utterly loyal to viserys because baelon made him loyal to his elder brother just like baelon was to aemon.  

Baelon’s last bit of sanity is holding by his love for his three children. The loss of aemon had truly broke him… 

Even the demon Bessaro is fed up overtly proud politicians and their games… but still his mission remains!!!

And hightower who waits, waits , and waits some more. 

so balerion is the reason they survived the purge in my story.. balerion went to magical presence and burned the shit down, just like balerion came in the vision daemon had at the beginning to burn him.. only the blood ties saved him then....

ADS 32

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 32: The Dragon  

Dragonstone, 95 AC.

3 days later.

I woke up with a groan. My head was pounding, and I felt a deep exhaustion unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. I glanced at my left hand and sighed in relief when I saw a fully grown, pink arm. Looking around, my gaze locked onto a pair of green eyes—Cannibal’s—watching me intently.

“Finally, you are awake from your slumber, human. I’m disappointed. I thought you would die from all the energy you used to heal yourself… and from what I took to heal myself far faster than should be possible.”

Cannibal’s indifferent voice echoed inside my mind

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog clouding my thoughts. I entered by mental winterfell and I observed the changes. The dragon embedded in the weirwood tree had fully materialized now, almost similar to Cannibal. I reached out and touched the tree, and immediately, I sensed two connections within its roots—both deeply intertwined with me. One led to the dragon, and the other to Fenrir.

Energy surged through the link from Fenrir, and I peeked into his senses. Warmth and happiness flooded me as I saw a half-eaten whale before his eyes.

Our other senses picked up my daughter’s voice.

“Come on, Fenrir! Why did you run off and attack the warehouse storing the whale? You've been eating non-stop for three days!”

“Ah, now I see why you survived. Your puny Dog saved you. Too bad I didn’t burn the connection when I had the chance… in my magnanimity.”

Cannibal’s voice intruded again, breaking my warging and seeing my daughter through Fenrir’s eyes. I could feel him observing me through the bond.

Fed up, I pulled myself fully back into my own mind.

“I thought dragons cared about their bonded ones… that they protected them,” I muttered, watching as my mental version of the dragon twisted and transformed into Cannibal fully. The Cannibal observed the surrounding castle very curiously and snorted, seeing the snow getting vapourised by his sheer heat.

“Now, now, my human,” Cannibal said with a huff. “That’s true for lesser dragons. And don’t call me that foolish name. I am not a cannibal. I have never eaten my own kind. Besides, if my human can’t survive his own foolishness, then he doesn’t deserve to live.”

I blinked, bewildered by the entire exchange, and opened my eyes. The landscape around me had changed. Grey Ghost was almost completely devoured by Cannibal, and the forest where we had landed was no more. Flames still crackled, devouring everything in their path. Green fire continued to burn fiercely, smoke spiraling upward into the sky.

I scanned the area but couldn’t see Sheepstealer anywhere.

“Don’t worry about your pet. I had this one to fill my stomach and help me recover. Your own blood was enough to make Sheepstealer walk away, and I let it, as you seemed to like her,” Cannibal’s voice hit my mind.

“I see. That is surprising. You seem to be both with me and against me. You wanted me dead and now you’re saying you left both Fenrir and Sheepstealer for me. Also, if you don’t want to be called Cannibal, what is your name?”

The dragon moved its face, and I could only describe it as a grimace.

“This has been my instinct for centuries, human. I can’t exactly stop my own thoughts, and I was intrigued by your memories since your birth. Your fear of threats and your abilities have intrigued me enough to give you a chance. At least you will lead me to worthy fights and even empower me more. My true name is something you will not be able to say. The lesser dragons call me Draxulion, meaning Eternal Devourer, and the Black Shadow called me Green Flame.”

“I see,” I said, annoyed by the dragon. I got up from where I was lying and walked toward the dragon. Slowly, I raised my arms and finally touched its neck. Cannibal was lying on the ground, and I could reach there.

“I am happy that you finally relented. It would be sad for me to kill you. And why do you sound like a female, bitching about everything at times? But since you want to annoy me and deny your name, I will still call you Cannibal,” I said as I used my strength to scratch it.

The dragon, which had been preening at my actions, scoffed at the kill comment, and indignation flooded the bond at my “bitch” comment along with the name Cannibal.

“Idiot. I am neither female nor male. I take the form needed. I am not like the lesser dragons who are stuck with the same form for decades.” The dragon snorted. “Call me what you want; I don’t care enough to bother anyway.”

“You’ve been saying ‘lesser dragons’ so many times. Come, let’s move from here before dawn, and you can explain what makes you different from other dragons and how you are not a cannibal when you’ve been eating dragons. Come, let’s fly together. I don’t want my father’s family to find me with you, when they finally bother to fly above us to see what happened” I said as I started to climb the neck.

“Oh, Don’t worry about that.  No sane dragon would enter my territory willingly and even dragons couldn’t see anything through all the smoke and heat.”  Cannibal informed me.

I reached a good point where I would be safe against the wind and could hold on, even before I could settle perfectly and hold one of the many spikes around its head and neck.

With a casual jump and one flap of its wings, we were airborne. Within minutes, we were above the clouds, and the moon and stars surrounded us. It was a breathtaking experience, and I felt tears forming in my eyes even without knowing why. Everyone had thought about flying, but this was an indescribable thing. We flew over Dragonstone and the surroundings until dawn came.

========================

It has been two days since my first flight, and every night I flew with Cannibal. It was too good to experience, and I cursed my family for not allowing me to see the beauty of flying during the day.

Cannibal had explained that all the ruckus we caused with the fight had been noted, and many knights were sent to inquire, but the fire stopped them from coming nearer. Cannibal had breathed fire again to spread the flames further.

I had spent the entire time with the green dragon, trying to get information out of him. His usage of lesser dragons and the denial of the Cannibal name intrigued me, but no matter what, the dragon was obstinate and even threatened me when I inquired about it again and again.

For the last two days, I had observed and tested our bond, and I understood intuitively that he would never harm me, even though he had been wishing I was dead repeatedly. Yesterday, I saw Vhagar and Baelon arriving, flying over the burned-down forest, along with Cannibal’s lair. I was inside the cave, surprised by Cannibal’s response.

“I thought you were not afraid of lesser dragons. Vhagar and Baelon have been searching for you and flying in your territory for many hours now,” I asked teasingly.

The response was immediate, as I felt incredulity from the dragon.

“You saw me defeating two dragons, even when they ambushed me, and one enhanced with your powers, after you tried to mentally attack me and yet you ask this foolishness of me? There is no dragon alive who has a chance to kill me after the The Black Shadow chose to die last year. For your knowledge, I do not attack Targaryen dragons, as per the pact formed between me and The Black Shadow all those years ago when they appeared here after the Wrath of the Fourteen.”

I was surprised, as Cannibal was known for killing dragons and eating even eggs. Then it hit me: no rider was ever killed, and only unbonded dragons were killed. But that was irrelevant, as I heard someone mentioning the truth of the Doom for the first time.

“Wrath of the Fourteen? So you know what happened to cause the Doom. Tell me more,” I commanded in excitement and curiosity.

The dragon just looked at me like I was an idiot.

“No. I will not tell you anything, as you are not deserving to have my great knowledge. You never told me anything about you. I saw everything in your memory. You can do the same if you want,” Cannibal said to me, and I could feel the mocking laughter.

“What? How do you see memories? I couldn’t enter your mind even with our bond. Your defenses are back, and I can’t attack you,” I snapped.

“Well, that’s your problem, not mine. I will protect you, and I will fly with you. Flying with you was so exhilarating, and having a bond isn’t so bad when you get so many benefits. But I don’t have to do anything more.”

I knew the stubbornness of this dragon, and I decided I would rather find the memories by trying to enter his mind later than argue now.  

=======================

It has been two weeks since I bonded with Cannibal, and it’s been a time full of ups and downs. I had visited Sheepstealer to provide healing, and Cannibal almost attacked the dragon—I felt the jealousy surge through our bond when I petted Sheepstealer. Only a hard, authoritative order to stop stayed his hand, and that was a massive relief.

Even when the dragon was rebellious, he obeyed me in the important matters—flying, fighting, and even stopping his feral attacks. The only thing he consistently denied me was information. I still tried every day to access his memories, but I was nowhere close. I knew that, eventually, my own learning talent would pick up on how Cannibal accessed my memories, and that understanding would come to me naturally. In the meantime, I had tried various methods, but none had worked. I was waiting for my hair to grow back as I have obtained the black dye from the Velaryon merchants. I had been going bald over the last two years—my hair constantly singed by fire. For some reason, that was where my fire resistance was weakes

I spend much time with Fenrir as he was very worried about my injuries during the three days. Atleast Fenrir was happy as my own aim for two years has been finally accomplished and even he could feel the dragon in our bond.

Uncle Baelon had left Dragonstone, satisfied that Cannibal had retreated to his lair and would no longer cause any attacks. I sighed in relief when I saw Vhagar flying away—the biggest dragon in Westeros right now. I couldn’t help but wonder what made them “lesser,” as Cannibal always said. Even when confronted with a dragon nearly two times his size, Cannibal was completely indifferent. At the very least, I was relieved that if I were discovered, I could hold my own in a fight—if needed.

Over the past two years, I had been observing Gael, trying to see if she followed the canon version. In the stories, she was described as simple-minded and frail. I could see glimpses of foolishness, yes, but there was cleverness too. The Queen had become increasingly suffocating over the years to Gael in her presence, and to she found a way to reduce that. It  was Gael who had written to Septa Maegelle to heal the rift between the King and Queen.

Alyssane had denied her lessons on noble families and Valyrian history, yet I saw her instructing servants to fetch books. Her own mother had claimed she couldn’t read Valyrian, but I witnessed her reading it effortlessly. The closest match to her behavior, oddly enough, was the fanon eccentric version of Luna Lovegood, and that intrigued me greatly.

I could see her falling for a bard easily, especially after the Queen had denied her marriage suggestions and following Daemon’s forced marriage to Rhea. It was a tragic tale— A mother suffocating a Princess while the court pities her- got seduced by a bard and have a child. The bastard child she loved died, and she killed herself afterward.

I wondered if I had seen the bard who managed to seduce a princess of the blood and then disappear. Then it hit me—I was a bard too. She was blooming into a proper Valyrian, inhuman beauty, and I was genuinely tempted to become that bard in 98 AC. But I remained undecided. It was a risky path and if found out it would only end with me being a Kinslayer. 

==================

I entered the Dragonstone port, heading toward the tavern so that people could register my presence. I had timed my visits with the arrival and departure of ships. People had heard of my wanderlust—my supposed journeys to Driftmark and King’s Landing while I was actually hiding in the mountains. That no one doubted me was evidence of how much my acting ability had grown. I had picked up the smallfolk’s mannerisms and body language so well that no one suspected I’d grown up as a lord in a northern castle. Truly the learning talent is one of the best cheats I asked for. 

Only when my mind stopped its wandering did I notice something strange in the port. Some people stood out like they were under a spotlight, while others felt like background noise—irrelevant. I was stunned. This was the first time I had ever felt anything like this. It wasn’t something I had trained. I focused on the less noticeable individuals and noticed a distinct lack of Valyrian features.

“What the fuck? Did I get a discount version of mage sight?” I muttered as I entered the tavern and ordered a drink. Alcohol did nothing for me, but not ordering would have drawn attention.

I watched the crowd. The Valyrian-blooded ones had a stronger presence—more vivid and noticeable to my senses. Sitting in the shadows, I extended my awareness, slowly stretching my perception to sense emotions. The moment I did, pain flared in my eyes, but my perception of people changed—sharpened. The only logical conclusion was that this ability came from my bond with Cannibal. Perhaps dragons could identify Targaryen blood not by scent, but by instinct to see magic—and that instinct had been passed to me.

‘Another skill to practice.’ I sighed.

I was thinking of returning north soon to see my friends and, of course, my daughter, before heading to King’s Landing in my bard persona. I wondered how much more would be my daughter and the northmen in my new senses. It was an intriguing thought. 

My thoughts were broken by a commotion outside—I heard the name Princess Gael.

Intrigued, I went out and saw a retinue of knights escorting Gael to a newly docked ship. A woman in septa robes stepped off the ship, her Valyrian features unmistakable. I realized it was my aunt—Septa Maegelle.

I walked as close as I could to see Gael.  It was only 20 metres away and the knights moved while walking and my breath hitched.

There was a visible aura of light surrounding and radiating from Gael. It screamed of magical power—beautiful and dreadful at once. I focused my senses, and my magic responded. Her reserves were immense, but underused, giving them a strange, black hue. And I understood. Her supposed frailty and simple mindedness came from unconscious magic use—magic that healed her, helped her answer questions. But whenever she heard her mother or the septa disparage magic, or felt forcefully suppressed by them, the magic simply stopped working and thus the frailty and simple mindedness. 

I looked to Septa Maegelle—another Targaryen—and saw she, too, had a strong presence. But it was like a flickering candle beside the sun-like radiance of Gael.

How could that be? Then I realized: Gael was the thirteenth daughter of a King and Queen of considerable power. What if, in this world—as in many others—numbers had power?

I watched the retinue as they returned to the castle, then quietly returned to the inn.

“Such potential… wasted on a fucking bard and a meaningless death,” I whispered bitterly.  Maybe the entire Dance of Dragon wouldn’t have happened if Gael was married to Daemon or even Viserys, but my grandmother’s obsession stopped that in canon and even in this world. 

=====================================

I stayed another two weeks in Dragonstone before I finally found a ship bound for Duskendale. The ship was set to sail tomorrow, and it was time to say my goodbyes—to both Cannibal and Sheepstealer.

I climbed the mountain at night, and to me, it looked no different than day. My night vision had always been sharp, but after bonding with Cannibal, it had received an upgrade. My own eyes has the most visible benefit I’d experienced so far, and I couldn’t help but wonder what else might come. Cannibal had already fully healed, and I could even see a subtle growth in him. Just like Fenrir, even without sharing my blood, Cannibal was clearly being influenced by my abilities.

"Aye, I’m happy to see you too," I said, sarcasm heavy in my voice.

One large green eye cracked open and stared at me indignantly—then closed again.

"So," I began, stepping closer, "I’m here to say goodbye. I’ve secured passage on a ship and will be leaving—for now."

For a while, I felt nothing from the bond. Then, suddenly, as if Cannibal had just processed my words, a wave of anger and disgruntlement slammed into me.

“You dare… the voice hissed in my mind. You dare ride that floating firewood? You dare leave me behind and go your own way?”

I was struck silent. I hadn’t expected this kind of reaction from Cannibal. The bond between us was still new, and until now I’d only received begrudging acknowledgment from him. But he was… angry I was leaving?

And suddenly, a thought struck me.

Grinning smugly, I replied aloud, “Oh? Is the great dragon going to be lonely and miss me?”

Indignation flared in our bond, followed by a flash of embarrassment. I laughed, taking that as all the confirmation I needed.

That embarrassment quickly turned to anger.

“Oh, you’re laughing at me? Try living for five centuries without any company, then come talk to me. I’m glad you’ll feel it too, one day—because you’re immortal. But I, and even your overgrown dog, will die.”

The words hit harder than any dragon’s flame.

My laughter vanished. The truth of it settled like a weight in my chest.

I was pragmatic enough to accept reality. Deep down, I knew I would be alone. I’d kept my distance from most people, save for the few exceptional ones who had carved places in my heart—Cregan, Aethan, and my daughter, Lyanna. But even they wouldn’t outlive me. No human would and I have accepted it long time ago.

Yet the bond I shared with Fenrir and Cannibal—that was different. I had hoped, even believed, that they would share my immortality through our bonds and my own sharing ability.

"That… you’re wrong," I stammered, trying to deny his words. "You’re both tied to me—tied to my soul. My abilities should heal you, sustain you—as long as I live, you should live too." I tried to speak firmly, like I was convincing him… or maybe just myself.

Cannibal snorted. “Idiot. You think your little trick of entering animals—of forming a deeper link with your wolf and me—makes it a soul bond? It’s just mind-melding. Nothing more. Sure, our abilities are enhanced. We’ll likely live for centuries if we’re not mortally wounded or constantly near death. But your immortality? No, my Daemon. We are mortal, just like anyone else. You’ll outlive even me one day.”

For several long moments, I sat there in the cavern, lost in thought. Then two words echoed in my mind, over and over, pulled from Cannibal’s own admission:

Soul bond.

“Wait—Cannibal,” I said, voice urgent. “You said it’s just mind-melding and not a soul bond. So… there is something called a soul bond? And it can make you share my immortality?”

I felt a flicker of smugness and devious glee in our bond, and I knew Cannibal had been waiting for me to ask.

And then, with no small amount of satisfaction, Cannibal began explaining the blood magic ritual required to form a true soul bond.

By the time Cannibal finished his explanation, I knew—I would be the bard who seduced Gael and the death would be at least meaningful. Not some senseless waste like in canon.

================================================

The Great Tourney of 98 AC, held in celebration of fifty years of the Old King's reign, was widely considered a major turning point in Targaryen history. It was later confirmed by the Bastard King himself that it was during this very tourney he entered King's Landing disguised as a bard and seduced Princess Gael. His words were cryptic, but the truth was eventually grasped by those who listened closely and wise enough to understand.  

"There I was, arrogant after I claimed the unclaimable—Cannibal—and now defying the Old King's decree that banished me from the South. I walked hidden in plain sight, fully aware that many eyes were on me because of my talent in music. And yet, not one of them recognized who I truly was.

Then I met the young princess. She was lonely, made melancholic by the madness of the old hag who raised her, and I… I brought with me music that lifted her spirits. Heavenly, she called it. But I didn’t realize she had turned herself into a honeypot. Never in my life did I expect that to be used on a bard, of all people."

It is also said that the injury and stress caused by the events of this tourney and the following years eventually led to Prince Baelon's burst appendix two years later—an event that sparked one of the most unconventional and confusing chapters in the Game of Thrones.

Excerpts from The Bastard King. Chapter 5: The End of the Beginning. Written by Maester Theon in 200AC

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Authors note:   so a chapter with so much changes to canon. So much teasing of dragonlore and yet nothing relevant. It is not to just tease you, there is a reason why it is like that and I am actually proud of that as I got it just at the end of the chapter only. Before that it was just author fiat. 

Also if you have a good name for dragon, please suggest.. for some reasons nothing seems to be good and i think i would just go with cannibal itself... the only one i liked enough was draxulion.

NO CHAPTERS TILL MAY 15TH !!!

ADS 31

Chapter 31: How To Tame Your Dragon

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

93 AC, 2 weeks later

Dragonstone

Daemon Snow

I groaned as I entered my room for the first time in two weeks, that I have rented at an inn in the port of Dragonstone. I collapsed onto the straw bed—it was a mild improvement over the cold, hard ground I'd been sleeping on.

It had taken me nearly three days just to regain consciousness, and another full day before I could even move my body. Remembering it was as horrifying as actually experiencing it, but my mind went back to the day I woke up. 

"Thank you, Meleys," I whispered, gazing down at the burns and the aftermath. The muscles in my thighs had almost completely wasted away, and in some places, blackened, scarred bone was visible. At least the broken bones had already healed, and they felt stronger than before.

I hadn’t had food or water, and somehow, unconsciously, I’d drawn energy from the various bonds I shared with animals. I realized several of those bonds had vanished—dead. I had drained them, just like the Night King did with his wights.

At first, I hadn’t noticed it, but there was a deep connection between me and Fenrir—one that allowed energy to flow between us. If Fenrir ate more than he needed, that excess sustained me, and vice versa. I’d never noticed the bond’s true depth until I saw Fenrir heal from a bear attack, even without me sharing my blood.

I had made sure to tell him: if he ever felt our connection begin to fade when I was unconscious, he should eat more than necessary. Clearly, he had listened. Despite being unconscious for three days and on the brink of death, I neither felt thirst nor hunger. I knew Fenrir had followed through.

Lying on the bed, I slipped into the minds of my animals stationed in Dragonstone, trying to understand what had happened in my absence.

Apparently, the disappearance of the two guards had been blamed on the dragons—it had happened before. Two others had already volunteered to take their place, lured by the promise of gold. This time, there was even some hazard pay offered. I grinned in relief. At least I now had something to offer Cannibal, or a bargaining chip if I ever needed to escape.

====================

It took me another week after I was back to perfect health, to gather the courage to face the climb—and the dragon—again. When I finally reached the summit, I hid behind the rocks and threw the corpse of one of the dead guards to Cannibal. The dragon had already sensed my presence but didn’t react beyond shifting its head to swallow the body whole in one massive bite.

I shouted in High Valyrian, “Oh great Cannibal, I am Daemon Snow, great-great-grandson of Aegon the Conqueror, rider of Balerion the Black Dread!”

Through my senses, I felt nothing but cold indifference—until I said the name Balerion. Then, the dragon let out a low, irritated growl. I pressed on.

“I want to be on good terms with you,” I said, stepping toward the entrance of the cave.

Suddenly, that same bone-deep fear gripped me again, freezing me in place. But this time, I was ready. I broke free from its hold after a few minutes. Cannibal snorted in surprise, and for the first time, moved his head outside the cave. He took a deep breath—I could feel the shock rolling off him. He hadn’t expected me to survive his last attack.

But the surprise didn’t last long. I felt his indignation—how dare I survive? Then came the Fire.

This time, it was even brighter—a vivid, emerald green—and Cannibal was faster. Much faster. The flame struck me with brutal force, engulfing me completely and blasting me off the mountain once more. I fell the 400 meters down to the ground again.

I groaned in frustration, feeling like Team Rocket from that old Pokémon series I used to watch as a kid in my past life.

The only saving grace was that I had already numbed myself to pain before reaching the summit. This time, my bones didn’t shatter outright—but they were broken in several places. Still, it was the burns that hurt the most. Even with my adaptation and boosted fire resistance, Cannibal’s enhanced magical flames had done almost as much damage as last time.

“Fucking hell… this is going to take time,” I muttered as I lay on the ground, waiting for my bones to begin healing again.

================================

2 Moons Later.

I had gone back four times over the past two moons, and now the knight in charge of Dragonstone was growing increasingly suspicious about the disappearance of the poor fools who had volunteered for this job. The queen had been informed, but she wasn’t in the mood to care about missing smallfolk—especially not when it concerned carrying out an order issued by her kingly husband. She told the knight to either stop the operation altogether or do whatever he could to find a solution. She didn’t care about a few missing guards, when guarding a beast like cannibal was foolishness at best. 

The knight responded by positioning the next pair of guards farther back from the path—almost at the edge of the forest. Even that spot was still far enough from prying eyes, giving me room to do what I needed.

During all my previous visits, I had never used my warg abilities—I was too uncertain and afraid how Cannibal would react. Until now, I’d been nothing more than a minor annoyance to the beast, a convenient source of meat. But I was almost certain that if I tried to enter its mind, everything would change. Cannibal, by the last visit, had grown bored of me entirely. I had even survived the fall without taking any damage. Still, the dragonfire remained a threat—even now, it could burn through my resistance easily. My current limit was about thirty seconds in the flames before they began to truly hurt me.

But this time, I had made up my mind. I was confident I could survive any fall now, and so I was ready to use my warg powers for the first time.

I had already planned my escape. I had identified the easiest path toward Sheepstealer’s cave and intended to lead Cannibal there. Once both dragons were in proximity, it wouldn’t take much to spark a fight between them—and in the chaos, I would slip away.

============================

I hid behind the opening leading to the summit, feeling the dragon’s boredom ripple through my senses as it sensed my presence once again. I picked up one of the dead guards and hurled the body toward the cave. Cannibal didn’t hesitate—he devoured the offering with casual ease, satisfied, his massive form slightly relaxing.

That was the moment I acted.

Drawing on all my strength, I reached out with my warg powers and plunged into the dragon’s mind. It felt like falling through green fire—searing, alien, alive.

A deafening roar exploded from the cave, so loud it made the very mountain tremble.

I was inside Cannibal’s mind—and it was furious. I felt its wrath like a storm. A mental avatar of the dragon surged forward to meet my intrusion. Its green eyes blazed with malice, intelligence, and pure, unfiltered rage. This wasn’t like Balerion. There were no words, no cryptic thoughts—only raw hostility.

Instinct screamed that if the flames hit me, they wouldn’t just burn—they would erase me, mind and soul. I fled, tearing myself free of the dragon’s mind. But the fire chased me—bleeding through the connection. My mental palace ignited in emerald flames.

But I wasn’t unprotected. The black flame- I copied from Black Dread all those years ago, that surrounded my mental Winterfell, absorbed the brunt of the inferno, saving my life again.  I was singed, but not broken.

I gasped and opened my eyes.

For the first time, I saw Cannibal in all its terrible glory as it emerged fully from the cave. Its burning green eyes locked onto mine, and I swallowed hard, paralyzed by its presence. Before it could even take another step, I threw myself off the cliff—again. In my hand was the body of the second guard, meant to increase my falling speed.

But Cannibal was heavier, faster, and far more experienced in the air. With a single flap of its wings, it was already closing the gap. I could see the malicious amusement on its face—the gleeful anticipation of playing with its food.

I knew I wouldn’t reach the treeline in time. It would swallow me whole in mid-air, before I reached there.

Desperate, I hurled the second body at its face with all the strength I could muster. The dragon wasn’t expecting it. The corpse hit with a sickening splatter—blood, bone, and gore exploding across its face and momentarily blinding it.

Reflexively, it beat its wings to avoid the projectile, and again when the gore obscured its vision.

That was all the time I needed.

I hit the ground hard, rolled to absorb the impact, and surged to my feet, already sprinting. I ran faster than ever before—faster than I thought possible. The ground blurred beneath me, dust and leaves kicking up with every step. I knew I would be almost a blur in normal eyes by the speed I am going. From the sky above, I caught glimpses through my birds’ eyes—the dragon was pursuing me, a monstrous shadow gliding just above the treetops.

I felt a grin in my face as excitement and adrenaline rushed in me unlike any time before as I tried to escape a grisly death. 

This was madness, yes—but it was also exhilarating!!

===========

For ten minutes, I ran for my life as the dragon raged behind me, crashing through the forest, setting trees ablaze in its wake. But at last, I reached the cavern.

The lair of Sheepstealer.

I had already confirmed it was inside, before engaging with Cannibal. I didn’t hesitate. With one final breath, I severed all my animal connections—except for Fenrir—and launched a mental assault at Sheepstealer’s mind.

I expected another blast of fire, another monstrous avatar like Balerion’s or Cannibal’s and I was surprised as I didn’t see anything similar in Sheepstealer’s mind.

It was somehow lesser than the two dragons. 

Sheepstealer’s mind was different. Not passive—but cold, calculating, aware. It was intelligent, far more sophisticated than a common animal. It didn’t respond with mental avatar’s of wrath or flames, but it fought back fiercely. It wasn’t like dominating an animal—it was more like struggling against another human will. I might have won if I’d been prepared for this kind of resistance, but my surprise cost me.

Still, I managed to plant the seed of a command as per my plan to make sure of my survival:

Attack. Attack. Attack Cannibal.

No roar. No grand response. Sheepstealer simply emerged from its cave.

Cannibal noticed the movement and growled in warning—but dismissed it just as quickly, returning its attention to the hunt.

Cannibal advanced with smug arrogance, certain that I was within reach.

But its smugness evaporated in an instant.

At the last second, it veered to avoid Sheepstealer’s claws and fire. The ambush had worked.

With a roar that made my ears ring and the trees tremble, Cannibal turned and met Sheepstealer’s attack head-on.

As the two dragons clashed, wings and teeth and fire colliding in a frenzy of violence, I turned and ran—grinning.

I had done it. I had survived. For now.

======================================

That night, I slipped into the cavern where Sheepstealer had taken refuge. The sight that greeted me was pitiful.

I had watched the fight through my birds, seen every blow exchanged, every flame cast. The only real damage Sheepstealer managed to inflict on Cannibal was a tear across the wing membrane—caused more by the initial surprise attack and the dragon’s partial blindness from the gore I had flung earlier than any true might.

He had fled, half-gliding, half-falling toward Dragonmont, toward the ancient roosts of the Targaryen dragons. Cannibal had halted his pursuit only when the proximity of other dragons made the chase too dangerous. Now, in the silence of night, I found Sheepstealer curled deep inside one of the abandoned caverns—wounded, breathing raggedly, his wing limp and scorched.

Knowing that the dragon will die without some care and if it was dead my own chance of escaping cannibal would be hard, I was here.

I crept closer.

The dragon stirred. Remaining one massive eye opened, glowing faintly in the dark. It growled a low, guttural warning, the sound vibrating through the stone beneath my feet.

I didn’t speak. Instead, I projected calm, pushing soothing emotions toward it—wordless images of healing, safety, recovery. The dragon snorted, dismissive and bitter. I could feel it then—its sorrow. A deep, dragging weight. It knew it would never fly again. Even with help. The loss of freedom, the sheer indignity of being earthbound, was so sharp I felt it scrape against my own heart.

Sheepstealer let out another growl when I reached toward its head, but there was no fire. It didn’t have the strength. All of its energy was going into staying alive.

I didn’t hesitate. I drew a knife and slashed across my left wrist, severing an artery.

Blood sprayed, hot and fast, across the dragon’s scaled snout. I stepped forward and pressed my hand toward its mouth. The dragon hesitated—but the moment my blood hit its tongue, something shifted. Its eyes widened. It tasted the magic in me.

Then it drank. Not with hunger, but with understanding.

Immediately, I felt the bond begin to form—unbidden, instinctual. The dragon’s essence reaching out to entwine with mine. A link of spirit and soul. But I didn’t want Sheepstealer. I wanted Cannibal.

So I rejected the bond.

Pain flared in both of us. Sheepstealer recoiled, snarling in rage and agony at the sudden severance. His jaws snapped shut, almost taking my arm with them.

“Oh, fuck you!” I shouted, stumbling back as he roared at the ceiling.

I barely managed to dive out of the cavern before he could lunge again.

Breathing hard, blood still dripping from my wrist, I sprinted into the shadows.

That had been too close.

And I had just made a very wounded, very proud dragon even angrier.

=================

It took a full month before Sheepstealer could fly again.

Every day during that time, I returned to the cavern, bringing sheep by the dozen, drenched in my blood to speed the healing. It was exhausting, painful, and increasingly risky, but I endured. I had use for Sheepstealer yet—and I needed him strong.

By then, everyone on Dragonstone knew something strange was happening with the wild dragons. Rumors spread of missing guards, distant roars, scorched cliffs, and the sight of dragons clashing in the night sky. But the queen, in her cold detachment, dismissed it all as irrelevant. She was too busy nursing her hatred against The King when she was not mourning her lost children, to care about wild beasts. And because she did not care, the people of Dragonstone court did not care—and no word of it ever reached the ears of the Old King.  He was far more busy handling the aftermath of ‘Death of the Dragon’.   

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95 AC

It had been nearly two years.

And today marked my hundredth attempt to tame Cannibal.

As always, it ended in failure.

By now, even Cannibal's lowest flames barely harmed me. Only the most intense, focused bursts had any real effect—and even those required effort from the beast. Energy. Intention. Cannibal had learned, just as I had. He knew I would lead him toward Sheepstealer if he gave chase. By the thirtieth time, it became a pattern. A game. And Cannibal didn’t like games he couldn’t win.  It also noticed, just as I had, that Sheepstealer was growing stronger with each encounter.

By the tenth attempt, no one on Dragonstone dared to take the guard post, and I lost access to my offerings. Though Cannibal was irritated by the loss, I managed to escape as usual.

I tried everything—luring, baiting, submission, mental domination, emotional projection. I pushed myself deeper into his mind than I ever had with any beast, even at risk of burning my soul in green fire again. And still… Cannibal would not bond. Each time, I was thrown out. Rejected. Reviled.

I had no idea what I was doing wrong.

In desperation, I turned to the weirwoods. I dove into the memory of Dragonstone itself through greenseeing—searching for answers, for some hidden key.

 I was shocked to discover that Cannibal had been here even before the Doom.

I was in awe of its longevity, but its lack of growth was perplexing. Over the years, it hadn’t grown much at all, allowing Balerion, Vermithor, and Vhagar to outsize it—even when they were younger.

Once, I spied on a meeting between Balerion and Cannibal, where they exchanged roars and even fire. But I couldn’t watch for more than a minute, as both dragons suddenly turned and breathed fire in my direction—as if they sensed someone was watching. I barely escaped with my life and mind intact.

I wondered whether I should just give up on cannibal. It was getting boring trying to do it again and again.  The only thing that made it bearable was the slow but steady improvement to my body. Pain wasn’t the issue—my pain dampening saw to that—but the monotonous repetition was infuriating.

Sheepstealer, on the other hand, had been strengthened by my blood and his more than two dozen battles with Cannibal. He had survived near-death more times than I could count. He had wanted to bond with me from the very beginning, and I knew I could accept that offer at any time.

By my calculations, Sheepstealer could even challenge Vhagar now. But that would be the quitter’s choice—and I am no quitter.

Moreover, after spending so much time inside both Cannibal’s and Sheepstealer’s minds, I understood something clearly: Cannibal was simply… more. Where other dragons were simply more than beasts, Cannibal was something else. He wasn’t just power. He was age. Memory. And I wanted the best possible dragon as mine.

The erratic behavior of both dragons had finally reached King’s Landing. I knew Baelon—or even Daemon—would soon be sent to investigate, especially with the Queen continuing to ignore every order from the King. My time was running out. I needed a miracle.

A miracle?

Suddenly, an idea struck me. For this, I would need the other wild dragon—Grey Ghost.

=============================

It was the 101st attempt. I had already used warging to command Grey Ghost. Constant fight with Cannibal had honed my warging and Grey Ghost was not powerful enough to go against my planted orders.

Now, Sheepstealer—who once fled from Cannibal’s shadow—knew that fighting it would only make it stronger. When I planted the command to attack, it welcomed the challenge. The only part left was mine—drawing Cannibal out of its cavern and making it attack me.

As always, Cannibal knew I was there. And as always, it ignored me like a pest. After so many attempts, the dragon no longer saw me as a threat. It had learned that trying to eat me was useless. Sometimes it ignored me, other times it pretended to sleep, or gave half-hearted chases to mock me.

I usually just talked—only attempting to bond at the end. But today, there was neither gentleness, nor calmness.

“Cannibal, I’m tired of this,” I shouted in Valyrian. “If we don’t bond today, this will be the last time!”

The dragon snorted and closed its eyes, utterly unimpressed.

I was enraged by that disrespect. I summoned my power. Closing my eyes, I steeled my will. I entered my mental palace of Winterfell. I had tried to control the black flames before, the ones I had seen in Black Dread—but even now in mental realm, I couldn’t fully command them. I could, at least, make my hands burn with them. I shaped the burning hands into fists, gathering all my mental strength.

I remembered the piercing strike the Night King had made with his sword simultaneously with his mental attack which enhanced the attack so much. I had crafted a dragonglass knife based on that attack—brittle, but infused with magic using my blood, potent enough to pierce even through the magical durability of a dragon. I had tested it on my own skin.

I cut a wound into my left palm and smeared the blood on the dragonglass blade.

My preparation was complete and I moved—physically and mentally—using everything I had.

The moment the knife pierced Cannibal’s scale and vanished into his flesh—taking half my fist with it due to the sheer force behind it—my mental avatar’s hand, cloaked in copied black flame, pierced the dragon’s mind.

The dual assault hit simultaneously. Both the physical and mental forms of Cannibal roared in pain and fury.

His slumber vanished as he reared back, jaws snapping toward me while I could feel heat gathering as Cannibal prepared to breathe fire. He knew his lesser flames would be useless against me.

I immediately retreated—both body and mind—and leapt out of the cavern.

I dodged to the side as Cannibal’s jaws closed in on where I had stood moments before.  Lightning fast, the Dragon head moved backwards and a blast of immense green flame engulfed the space I had just moved to making me jump to side again.

And then—Sheepstealer struck.

Descending from above, he raked his claws across Cannibal’s massive back. Where once those claws had broken against his scales, now they left deep scratches. Boiling black blood splattered the earth.

A roar—full of rage and agony—burst from Cannibal, the sound so loud it shattered my eardrums. A terrifying magical presence surged from him, freezing me in place.

I had overcome this presence in my third attack, but this attack was nothing like that. It was  unyielding and a terrifying power that wanted to burn, burn and burn everything again, but the Sheepstealer being a dragon and it broke out of the freezing aura. It gave Cannibal enough time to take flight.

And so, the Dance of Dragons began in earnest.

It was beautiful. And utterly horrifying. The air trembled with shockwaves from the heat from the flames. Firestorms clashed against each other and even with two years of my blood adapting and making it powerful, SheepStealer’s flames barely managed to counter Cannibal’s.

Then I saw it—a chunk of Sheepstealer’s belly meat fell to the ground near me.

He was going to die.

Whatever strength he’d gained from me, it was nothing compared to Cannibal. Sheepstealer realized it too. He broke away and tried to flee.

I ran after them. The moment my feet touched the treetops, I was moving above them—my speed letting me race across the canopy without breaking it.

I saw Sheepstealer flying away, trying to escape, but Cannibal almost caught him—until Grey Ghost attacked from above. The massive wounds left by Sheepstealer were torn open further by Grey Ghost's claws and teeth. Immediately, Sheepstealer turned and slashed at Cannibal, ripping open its stomach and trying to bite at Cannibal’s neck

But Cannibal was not a dragon that could be defeated so easily. It twisted its neck just in time, and Sheepstealer never got a firm grip. I saw Cannibal’s jaws open, and fire—unlike anything I had ever seen—spewed forth upwards at Grey Ghost. The flame was a dark green, so deep it was almost black. Even from hundreds of meters away, I felt the searing heat in my skin and burning my body through all my resistances. I watched in horror as one of Grey Ghost's wings was consumed by the flames and turned to ash instanly.

Grey Ghost, still above Cannibal, roared in agony and fell—crashing into both Cannibal and Sheepstealer.

By now, Sheepstealer had sunk its jaws into Cannibal’s upper chest, and its claws shredded through one of Cannibal's wings. As all three dragons plummeted through the air, Cannibal twisted its head down and unleashed another blast of that black-green fire directly at Sheepstealer. The dragon, having seen what that flame could do, disengaged and beat its wings to flee—but the fire was faster.

The flames engulfed Sheepstealer completely. I saw with horror as not one, but two layers of dragonscale were burned away. Sheepstealer’s pained roar echoed through the sky as she struggled to slow her fall. Her wing membranes were now paper-thin, scorched to a crisp along with the several muscles and scales. She looked like a walking anatomy sketch—muscles without skin—except many of her muscles were already reduced to ash.

With an earth-shaking crash, all three dragons slammed into the forest, crushing trees beneath them and igniting a fire from the burning bodies. Cannibal took the brunt of the impact, along with the weight of Grey Ghost crashing down on him.

Within seconds, I reached the clearing and saw them. Sheepstealer saw me and whined—half in pain, half in hope. I saw Grey Ghost breathing his last... and then the burning, hateful eyes of Cannibal.

I see the sorry state of the cannibal as it couldn’t even breath fire at me because of  his overuse of the hottest fire. The plan was simple.   I wanted Cannibal to be injured beyond anything, to offer him healing while bonding with him. Sheepstealer wanted to bond with me when I healed him the first time and I wanted to recreate it with Cannibal.

I took a step toward him—but a pitiful whimper from Sheepstealer stopped me. By now, our friendship was strong. Even though I sometimes thought of her as my pet, I realized she probably saw me as hers—a strange little healing creature/pet she’d grown fond of. It felt like having a massive, scarred, winged cat.  And I loved that as it helped me to not miss my direwolf Fenrir.  I looked back at Sheepstealer and I could see that it was at Death’s door.

I looked at Cannibal, saw he would survive for now, and went back to Sheepstealer. I fed her my blood. She growled softly in relief as it began healing her burns, then slipped into unconsciousness. I saw the worst of the damage was healing—she was safe, at least for now.

Then I turned to Cannibal. I grinned savagely and muttered,

“Well, well... how far the mighty have fallen.”

I could hear the grinding of shattered bones as he tried to move—tried to bite me—but it was useless. The weight of Grey Ghost along with his own injuries pinned him down.

"Now, now," I said, stepping closer. “I could heal you, my dragon,” I added possessively, “but we will be bonded.” 

Cannibal didn’t reject me as usual and taking it as agreement, I pulled out a second dragonglass knife and sliced a line across the artery of my left arm. Blood poured freely as I approached. I held out my bleeding hand and pressed it into Cannibal’s mouth. The moment my blood touched his tongue, I felt a shift—his mind stirring. I tried to breach the mental barrier I had touched before, to forge the bond.

But before I could reach that familiar breach, the damned beast moved.

With a sickening snap, Cannibal clamped his jaws down—biting clean through my arm just below the shoulder.

The pain was blinding. I screamed in fury as Cannibal opened his jaws again, ready to swallow me whole. A wave of pure rage surged through me as I realized the damned beast’s trap. I had one chance to achieve what I want and even save my own life.

Fueled by adrenaline and fury, I hurled my mind into his with a single, desperate command:

STOP!

Something snapped in my mind—everything around me froze.

Blood burst from my eyes, ears, and nose. My body gave out, overtaxed by the sheer strain of projecting my will into the dragon’s mind.

The last thing I heard before loosing consciousness was the words in my mind,

“You are the most arrogant, foolishly stubborn two- legged dragonling I have ever had the misfortune to meet. I should have ended my life with the glorious battle against the Black Shadow rather than face this indignity of being bonded with a puny human.” 

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Authors note: Finally daemon has his dragon… every targ or mc or si claiming dragons left, right and centre has been cliché for too long. I want it to change and when my own planned dragonlore gave me a chance I ran with it. hope everyone enjoyed this one!!!

Read, commend and recommend!!!!

I know grey ghost was far smaller even in dance time, but here it is large enough to atleast make a difference when Cannibal is already injured drastically by Sheep Stealer.

Next chapter within two days!!!!

ADS 30

ADS 30

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 30: The Queen Who Never Was

92 AC

Ser Otto Hightower

Ser Otto contemplated the recent events as he observed Prince Baelon stepping before the Iron Throne after doing something the usually calm and talented prince would have vehemently opposed under normal circumstances.  

Ser Otto had been called back to King’s Landing by the king in 91 AC to serve as an assistant to Lord Beesbury, the Master of Coin. The true purpose, however, was to counter the growing influence of the Sea Snake, who had been appointed Master of Ships in 87 AC. . His family had almost thrown a tourney at him being called to king’s landing.  It was always joyous when your years old plan becomes successful.  All the money and favours owed to the Lord Redwyne was truly worth it for his squireship under Ser Ryam. 

Also, they were thankful to the ambitious Sea-Snake too, eventhough no one will admit it. Only the rising influence made the king call him for countering it. Even the betrothal and marriage between the Sea Snake and Princess Rhaenys had come as a surprise to many, and the fact that the princess had chosen him herself was widely known.

Ser Otto had attempted to lend an ear to Prince Viserys, who was more disappointed than heartbroken. The prince had fully expected to marry the princess and spend his life as king consort, only to be betrayed by his cousin, confidante, and childhood companion. Otto had considered whether there was any political potential in Viserys, but the prince remained steadfastly loyal, willing to serve the heir and princess without ambition of his own.

Otto was disappointed that Prince Baelon’s second son, Prince Daemon, had not been born first. It would have been interesting to see how events would have unfolded had it been Daemon—who had believed for most of his life that he would marry Rhaenys—who was spurned. Even now, both Daemon and Aegon were enraged by Rhaenys’ choice, though the presence of their elders forced them to swallow their anger and grief in silence.

Ser Otto had first heard of Prince Aemon’s death from Lord Beesbury after a disastrous Small Council meeting. That the king had dismissed his entire council—except for Baelon—and decided the matter in private did not sit well with him at that time. Otto had expected the king to reprimand Baelon for ordering the destruction of an entire noble family, the Conningtons, in private. But when, three days later, he heard that the king’s dragon, along with Baelon and Vhagar, had flown to Griffin’s Roost to turn it into another Harrenhal, he was both shocked and alarmed. He had to completely reconsider everything he thought he knew about King Jaehaerys. He was numb from the shock and fear as the images of a burned down Hightower came in his nightmares for a couple of week.

And at last, he understood why Maegor the Cruel had not killed Jaehaerys when he had the chance. House Hightower understood the truth about that infamous king—the truth of his greatness bordering madness. Maegor had ensured Targaryen rule, by breaking a thousands-year-old system of Faith to do so and he was clever enough to make sure atleast one male of the family survived, to be the king after his death. Ser Otto despised Maegor with all his heart and took comfort in the thought of the cruel king suffering in the Seven Hells, yet even he could not deny Maegor’s will and tenacity in establishing Valyrian traditions for the royal family and curbing the Faith’s power so drastically.   

The only truly monstrous act Maegor had committed, in Otto’s mind, was the massacre of the Red Keep’s builders to conceal its secret passages. And yet, because of that act, no one knew those passages. The Hightower archives held secret maps of half the castles in Westeros, thanks to the maesters—but not a single one for the Red Keep. Only Maegor had ensured that by eliminating every last builder and engineer.

When word reached him of Myr and Tyrosh being burned, and when the king proclaimed that Myrish men, disguised as exiles, had been sent to Tarth to test an invasion plan, Otto recognized the king’s cunning. He knew Myr and Tyrosh had nothing to do with the attack on Tarth. The escaped exiles had merely sought refuge and, in desperation, attacked the island. The king knew it. The Small Council knew it. The leaders of Myr and Tyrosh knew it. But no one would dare speak the truth, not when the king had ordered his son to burn the manses of Myr’s ruling class to the ground.

How had Prince Baelon known exactly where the leaders were? That was another matter entirely. Otto had reached the answer after a moment of thought then;

Magic. Glass candles.

 He had tried to extract answers from Viserys and Rhaenys, but both had been kept in the dark by the king. They were simply told to grieve, assured that the guilty would be punished. Otto was disappointed that any distance that had formed between Rhaenys, Viserys, and Daemon due to her marriage to Corlys had been erased by their shared grief. The Dragonkeepers had to restrain Daemon twice when he attempted to claim Balerion—or even Dreamfyre—to join his father in burning Myrish and Tyroshi lands. That the king had not punished Daemon for such reckless behavior was telling. Jaehaerys approved of his ten-year-old grandson’s bloodthirsty nature.

Otto understood the king’s actions. The message to the Free Cities and the creation of another Harrenhal was clear—it was a warning. Though Jaehaerys was a peace-loving king, he had no hesitation in spilling seas of blood if a Targaryen was harmed. Even Otto, who despised the use of magic, had been angered by Prince Aemon’s death and the invasion attempt by slavers. But the fact that the king had so deliberately used magic to enact his revenge was unforgivable.

Still, Otto was patient because he has no other options to achieve his goals. He would serve the royal family as diligently as possible, waiting for the right opportunity for he must be present here in Kings Landing, when it arrives.

His thoughts were interrupted as Prince Baelon unsheathed Dark Sister and laid it before the throne, dropping to one knee.

“My king, I have accomplished what you ordered. Prince Aemon has been avenged. The Conningtons are no more. The slave masters who attacked our lands and caused my brother’s death are ashes. Both in Myr and Tyrosh, the remaining magisters are spilling blood to seize power. The pirate scum of the Stepstones have been burned and looted by our ships.”

There was harsh silence as even now many couldn’t believe the Good King could order such cruelty in his old age. The new generation of nobles was familiar with the Cociliator king who is wise and wants peace. Burning a nobles castle is not an act of conciliator, it is an act worthy of a conqueror or even a cruel. Whispers of Baelon doing what he did without kings permission has been spread by many fools and thus many waited how the king would respond to this. 

 Ser Otto scoffed at the fools and he saw the king smiling at the news and for a moment he thought the king gave a mocking smile as the king looked through the great hall and the crowds until his eyes landed on his kneeling son.

“Prince Baelon, my son, you have avenged your beloved brother, Crown Prince Aemon, and his assassination. You have avenged the thousands who perished when slavers attacked my lands. You have proven your loyalty to House Targaryen time and again, serving this kingdom more faithfully than most. I thank you for your service. But I have nothing to reward you with, for even I cannot bring back the dead.”

“I have no need for a reward, my king,” Baelon replied, still kneeling. Many noblewomen swooned at the nobility and humility of the handsome, widowed prince.

“That is correct. You have no need for a reward,” the king said with a smirk. “And so, I must punish you.”

A collective gasp swept through the hall.

“I must punish you, for your punishment is a lifetime of service and duty—to me, to this throne, and to this kingdom. Thus, Prince Baelon, I declare you my heir to the Iron Throne and Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. You bent the knee as my second son and a prince of the blood—now rise as The Crown Prince and Prince of Dragonstone.”

The hall fell into stunned silence at the proclamation.

Ser Otto grinned. Even the usually emotionless Prince Baelon looked shocked. But what truly satisfied Otto was the anger and sorrow on Princess Rhaenys’ face. The queen was furious—only years of experience kept her from speaking out. Otto schooled his own expression, watching as Prince Viserys smiled in awe and wonder.

And in that moment, Otto silently thanked the new gods. The opportunity he had been waiting for had arrived sooner than expected.

======================================

 Baelon Targaryen

He was beyond angry as he reached the king’s solar, pushing the door open with force. The Kingsguard outside didn’t even react to him, as the king, having anticipated this, ordered them to do nothing. That only made him more furious.

As he entered the solar, he saw the king seated in a throne-like chair, lacking any kingly posture or regal mask. Instead, he saw the weary, old, and tired face of Jaehaerys Targaryen—the man, not the king. The sight of it left him silent, at least until the angry voice of his mother rang from outside.

“Is the king inside?”

“Yes, Your Grace, and he is expecting you. Princess Rhaenys and Prince Viserys are also allowed inside.”

“What?” came the sound of protest from Corlys, his son Prince Daemon, but they were not foolish enough to openly defy the king’s order and enter.

Baelon saw his family enter and he was further surprised at how angry both his mother and niece looked. His son viserys looked thoughtful and there was apparent gleam in his eyes that Baelon didn’t like at all.  Then, he paled as realization struck—he now understood why the king had allowed Viserys to be involved in a major decision for the first time.

“Why?” A quiet voice, trembling with restrained rage, echoed through the chamber. Princess Rhaenys fixed her grandfather with a piercing glare. “My father has not even been dead for a full moon, and already you have betrayed his wishes by naming Prince Baelon as heir.”

Baelon glanced at the king, and in that moment, he no longer saw the weary old man. The kingly mask had returned, sharp and unwavering. Baelon knew well the bite of his father’s tongue, and if Jaehaerys responded now, their family would be torn apart permanently.

Thus before the king could speak, Baelon cut in.

It doesn’t matter why niece. I never accepted the position infront of the court. The king will proclaim I have declined the position and name you the crown princess as per all the laws of gods and men.  I will not usurp Aemon’s line and betray his wishes. Do not test me on this father.

“It does not matter why, niece. I never accepted the position before the court. The king will proclaim that I have declined the title and will name you as the Crown Princess, as per all the laws of gods and men. I will not usurp Aemon’s line or betray his wishes. Do not test me on this, Father.”

Baelon felt a new surge of anger as he saw the proud smile on the king’s face—and the bitter disappointment on Viserys’s. He clenched his fists. He would have to teach his son some hard lessons about ambition.

“Brother, please, this is madness!” Rhaenys’s mother, Queen Alysanne, pleaded. “Rhaenys has been our heir’s heir since her birth, and you have never objected to it. Please do not betray her now, not when her father was unjustly killed, and she couldn’t even seek justice because you forbade her from going—because she was with child! This is the rightful succession, upheld by all established laws, Brother! Please, do not divide this family when we are already devastated by our beloved Aemon’s death.”

"Oh, dear sister, I didn’t hear you preaching the laws of gods and men when I usurped our niece Aerea’s claim. You were rather happy to support me and take your place as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I wonder where your respect for tradition and law had gone then?"

The Queen, usually unshaken, found herself at a loss for words. The anger in her brother’s voice was rarely ever directed at her, and yet, here it was. She had been exceptionally tired and broke by yet another child’s death and hearing the cruel words really broke something in her. 

 "And Baelon," the king continued, his gaze dark and unreadable, "I heard a threat in your tone just now. Does burning the slaver scum across the sea made you forget the lesson I imparted to you all those years ago in the Dragonpit or perhaps it’s just my old age making me mishear things." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Regardless, I will not proclaim Rhaenys as my heir, no matter what. But I wonder—what will you do?"

Baelon clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "I could deny my claim, but then you will declare my son, Viserys, as your heir. Since that is the case, I will accept your order and declare Rhaenys as my heir." His voice was sharp, his words deliberate.  There was pause as he pondered on whether he should punish The King, and for a moment he stopped, but then he remembered the disrespect shown to his beloved brother and he continued.

"Just as I accept this position before the court."

The king’s smile vanished instantly. Baelon knew he had crossed a line, but he saw no other way for the king to enforce his wishes in this matter. He wanted his father to feel the insult just as deeply—for dishonoring Aemon’s wishes before the realm. And yet, he was sure the king had no choice but to follow through his demands. Even a king needed a capable heir.

The king scoffed. "Oh Son, you just have to go there? You are angry at me for discarding Aemon’s wish, and so you seek to insult me before the realm. You should have kept silent about your own heir and declared Rhaenys heiress when you were king. Then I could have let this matter go—just as I did when Aemon was alive and his declaration of Rhaenys as his heir. His heir and legacy were his to choose, not mine."

"Uncle," Rhaenys called, finally breaking her stunned silence. Her violet eyes burned with disbelief. "You would do that for me? Even when my own grandfather skipped over me in the succession because I am a woman?" She exhaled sharply, then turned to the king. "And what do you mean you ‘let Aemon decide his heir’? You agreed with his choice! You have taught me many lessons, grandfather.”

Baelon merely nodded. "I would do anything for Aemon and his wishes, niece."

The king let out a cold laugh. "What a lovely sentiment, my son. The love you held for your brother is to be appreciated." He then turned to Rhaenys, his expression darkening. "But you, Rhaenys—I never wanted you to be queen. And you have only proven me right."

Rhaenys tensed, but the king pressed on, his voice unwavering. "You were foolish enough to discard an eligible Targaryen for a husband and chose instead a proud fool. I would have forgiven you if you had chosen even your bastard brother, but you chose the ambitious sea snake. I let it go because you are not my problem. I ruled for decades, and I expected Aemon to do the same when he ascended. Perhaps—who knows?—you may not have even outlived him."

His mocking tone cut deep, but Rhaenys did not back down.

"So you would hate me for my marriage to Corlys?" she snapped. "This is madness and unreasonable! At least I know Corlys will fight for me and mine—unlike Viserys here. I have been just prove right, even ten-year-old Daemon wanted to attack our enemies, yet Viserys never once thought of standing beside his father. And do not mock my uncle’s love. At least Uncle Baelon loves me enough not to usurp his brother’s daughter—unlike you, Grandfather."

Baelon caught the flicker of surprise on the king’s face. It had been a long time since anyone other than his wife or children had dared to speak to him in such a manner.

The king ignored Rhaenys and turned to Baelon instead. "Baelon, did you see that? My granddaughter has turned out to be a selfish, arrogant woman who chases after exaggerated tales rather than upholding her duty. I taught you the importance of our blood—that the Targaryens stand above all. And yet, your niece insulted you, your brother, and even your own son by ignoring Aemon’s generosity in allowing her a choice of husband."

His tone grew colder. "Baelon, do you really want to give up power and wealth for a niece who went against her father’s wishes? Who takes your loyalty for granted by not marrying Viserys?"

The room was silent, heavy with tension. Then the king’s voice darkened further. "She should have tied your lines as just the previous generation saw an uncle usurp even a male heir after his brother’s death. And before protests from you all about Baelon’s love to Aemon, let me tell you, Maegor, too, had his own twisted love for his brother. After all, he had Balerion and even with overwhelming power, he respected his brother’s orders and punishments."

Baelon stiffened at that, as his mind pondered the possibilities, but his love for his brother triumphed over the king’s manipulation.

"You cannot change my mind, Father," he said firmly. "I am loyal to my brother first and foremost. It was his wish for Rhaenys to be queen, and I will follow it. More than that, she has the support of the Baratheons, the Velaryons, and the laws. Why create a problem for the future when we could resolve it now?"

The king sighed, exhaustion creeping into his voice.

"Viserys, my grandson," he said at last, "I am sorry that your father is more loyal to his dead brother’s memory than to you and your brothers."

Baelon saw Viserys flinching at that and he would have snapped at the king but before that the king continued;

Straightening his posture, the king shook off any trace of weariness. "Prince Baelon, if you do not swear by Aemon’s memory, here and now, that you will accept the position of heir and declare Viserys as your heir before the court, then I will disinherit you, Rhaenys, and your three sons from the line of succession."

The room held its breath.

"That will be followed by your lines exile from Westeros. I am sure Essos will welcome you with open arms after the destruction you wrought there—on my orders."

Baelon’s heart pounded.

"Then I will call back my firstborn grandson, Daemon Snow, to the south, legitimize him, marry him to Gael and declare him my heir. At least he has done nothing I would disapprove of. And do you really want me to spell out how I will sell Daemon as my heir to the lords?"

Baelon gaped at the threat. He ignored the scoff from Rhaenys; he knew this was no mere bluff. Rhaenys and his mother were too angry to speak.

But his son was not.

Viserys stepped forward, his voice shaking with fear and anger at his father for the first time. "Father, what are you even thinking for? Please, don’t get us disinherited and exiled for Cousin Rhaenys. I have no illwill towards her for not choosing me as her  husband, but this is the King’s order. This is our home—our birthright! Both Daemon and Aegon will be in danger in Essos!"

His desperation finally broke Baelon’s resolve.

‘Forgive me, Aemon.’

Lowering his head, he whispered, "I will follow your orders, my king."

Baelon closed his eyes, unwilling to meet his niece’s gaze, knowing the betrayal and hurt he would find there. A cry of rage tore from Rhaenys’s lips.

Even without looking Baelon knew that The king had that cursed smile on his face as his will had become reality.

=======================

Baelon Targaryen sighed in exhaustion as he gazed out over Blackwater Bay from the balcony of his chamber. It had been one moon since he accepted the heirship and declared Viserys as his heir before the court. To him, it felt as though he had slain Aemon with his own hands—but the alternative, being homeless and in danger in Essos, was unthinkable for his sons.

He cursed his cruel father. At the very least, even the slaver scum in Essos recognized the truth of his nature and named him accordingly—Jaehaerys the Cruel—after receiving his messages.

Almost the entire nobility had supported Baelon, especially after his triumphs in Myr and Tyrosh, celebrating the future king who had three sons. Only the Baratheons and Corlys Velaryon had protested, but their objections were swiftly silenced. Even Lord Baratheon had lost his voice, as it was his own bannerman who had slain Aemon.

But now, one moon later, after the announcement of Viserys' betrothal to Aemma, many ambitious lords were beginning to reconsider their loyalties. The gold and influence of the Sea Snake were flowing into their coffers, swaying their decisions.

In the wake of these events, both he and the king had all but forgotten about Daemon Snow. It was only yesterday that a letter from Cregan Stark arrived in the capital, stating that Daemon Snow had left the North, claiming he was traveling to Essos. Cregan had no idea where he was now.

==============================================

93 AC

Dragonstone.

Daemon Snow

I sighed as I sat in a shadowed corner of the tavern. After the events of last year and Aemon’s death, my bitch of a grandmother had moved to Dragonstone after fighting over the inheritance. She had taken Gael with her, and I saw the girl in person for the first time.

She was ethereal, like all Targaryens, but there was something more to her. I understood it when she curiously watched two birds that I had sent to observe her. There was no third time—I was more careful after that, ensuring I only watched from hidden vantage points.

Her fate had been tragic in canon. Suffocated by her heartbroken mother. Seduced by a fucking bard, bearing his bastard. Losing that child to moon tea and then taking her own life.

I wondered if I had seen the bard in question during my travels over the past year. The aforementioned events would take place in 98 AC, during the celebration of the king’s fifty-year reign. I still had time to decide what to do about her and a nobody bard seducing a Princess of the Blood.

For now, my thoughts were consumed by a single being.

The Cannibal.

I had to break the minds of my birds just to get near his lair. I had already sacrificed dozens—one at a time—since the dragon was happy for killing every single one of my spies. Only my own practice allowed me to escape before the bird perished.

The Cannibal was smaller than Vermithor and Vhagar, but even through the eyes of my birds, I could feel its presence. It was like Balerion the Black Dread. I instinctively knew it was far more dangerous than other dragons. But for the life of me I couldn’t find why the two dragons alone was just more.  I have tried scrying using the Weirwoods in Dragonstone for the last two centuries trying to see any Targaryens mentioning about this, but I got nothing.

At the moment, I was observing the guards stationed around the Dragonmont. They were well-paid to monitor the paths leading up the mountain and to stop any intruders. It surprised me that King Jaehaerys was paranoid enough to have men watching even the wild dragons.

For me to venture there, I needed to get rid of those idiots. I studied their daily routines, waiting for the right moment. My plan was simple—kill them while they guarded the road, drag their bodies to the Cannibal’s cavern, and offer them as tribute. Perhaps then, the dragon would be more inclined to let me claim him.

================================

I dragged the two corpses up the mountain. I had killed both of them by twisting their necks from behind, without spilling a drop of blood.  Later, I would regale the climb was easy even carrying two corpses but even I was breathless as I climbed the mountain. Only my own exceptional strength and balance made it possible to climb the mountains as there were places there was only solid stones and I had to carve footholds while the corpses dangle in a rope behind me. 

Finally I reached the cavern where the beast lay. It was like a huge whale size soil and rock was missing in the middle of the mountain.  There was a large hole inside the mountain and an open place of almost 60 metres infront of me. I could see the rock pieces lying in the ground which must have caved in from above while cannibal carved his cave, making the open space.

 I had both the corpses over my shoulder as I approached the opening. With my night vision, I could see into the darkness of the cave.

The Dragon was black as coal, as expected but its green eyes locking onto me was not something I expected. A chilling terror gripped my body, freezing me in place. Even with my tremendous willpower and mental defenses, I found myself paralyzed—just like I had been when the Night King attacked all those years ago.  I could only try to fight the hold over me for a moment.

There was no warning growl, no sound. Just an overwhelming torrent of green fire from a mouth a large lion could walk in comfortably.

The flames engulfed me. For the first five seconds, I felt nothing. Then, the pain hit—unlike anything I had ever experienced. The only good thing was that the sheer agony forced my body to react. Instinct took over, and I launched myself backward with all my strength—a strength far beyond normal human limits.

The earth beneath my feet buckled under the force of my kick, and in an instant, I was nearly two hundred meters backwards from where I had stood. Pain erupted through my legs as my bones shattered under the strain. I had pushed my body past its natural limits of even my enhanced body.

By then, I was already suppressing the pain, allowing me to stay conscious. Fortunately for me, the Cannibal was too lazy to pursue. Instead, it turned its attention to the two bodies I had brought for it which fell from shoulders to the ground when I jumped backwards.

Only then did I realize I wasn’t landing on solid ground and I looked down.

"You fucking fool," I muttered to myself. "You should have chosen any other dragon—fed it your blood, made it powerful."

My frightened jump had taken me outside the mountain edge and I was falling to the ground. The ground was nearly 400 meters below, covered in a dense forest of trees thriving in the fertile soil. Instinctively, I brought my hands up to shield my head.

The first branch I hit snapped beneath me, the impact breaking my legs further. I spun around because of my momentum and it carried me through more branches, each one bruising, cutting, and breaking my body. Finally, I slammed into the forest floor—and everything went black.

=========================

Authors Note: finally  it is dragon claiming time and I assure you it is not easy as just going infront of the dragon and then claiming it in case of cannibal...

Also please note that I had run a festival discount of 10% for 1 month for Potter Tier in Dec 1- 31st last year for ALL my readers. Unfortunately pat reon had other settings…  it only came to my attention that the discount option is only shown to new, free or cancelled members, not existing subscribers. So many had missed out on it and thus I have scheduled the same discount from March 1 to 31st. 

I am grateful to all the support and all can avail the discount by cancelling and restarting the membership!!   

ADS 29

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 29: Fire and Blood

Rhaenys Targaryen

King’s Landing, 91 AC – First Moon

Rhaenys felt tense as she stepped into the king’s solar, accompanied by her father, Prince Aemon, her uncle Baelon, and the Queen. After much deliberation, she had decided to marry Corlys Velaryon rather than Viserys. She couldn't deny that her meeting with her bastard brother had played a role in her decision—or that his warning against marrying Viserys had lingered in her mind.

The thing she had seen that day still haunted her.

For a moment, she had believed her brother would be found dead, and somehow, she would be branded a kinslayer. Yet she had nearly died of shock when the insane bastard walked into Winterfell two days later—without so much as a scratch. Since then, she had never dared to speak to him alone or even be near him.

She had been prepared to inform Aemon and the Queen of her choice in Winterfell itself, but her concern for Uncle Baelon and her cousins had stayed her hand. It was only when she overheard a conversation in Winterfell—where Lord Manderly and the Reeds mocked Corlys with disdain—that she finally made her decision. Their scorn was born of jealousy—jealousy of his accomplishments, his wealth, and the power he had built. She knew that wealth was its own form of power.

Her father had tried, time and again, to change her mind, urging her to consider Viserys—or even the second son Daemon—as her consort. But she had made him see reason, promising that when the time came, Uncle Baelon or his sons would rule beside her. She had also pledged that her children might wed theirs, uniting their claims.

"Grandfather is still healthy," she had argued. "He has ruled for four decades now. You will be king for decades more, and Uncle Baelon could serve as your Hand all those years. By then, we will have children of our own, and our houses will be bound together."

In the end, it had taken her mother’s support for Aemon to finally relent. He had spoken to Uncle Baelon, and though disappointed, Baelon had—as always—agreed to follow.

And now, they stood before the king, seeking his approval.

============

The king sat in his solar, eyeing them with a knowing smile.

"So," he said, "why is everyone gathered in my solar after requesting a meeting? Is it finally time to announce Rhaenys and Viserys’s betrothal? My head aches from the sheer number of letters I receive about the matter will finally end."

Rhaenys almost flinched, and she saw her father tense beside her. At once, the smile vanished from the king’s face.

It was her grandmother who spoke first. "Brother, our granddaughter has chosen Corlys Velaryon as her husband—not Viserys."

The king stilled. The air in the room grew heavy, thick with unspoken tension. In that moment, Rhaenys understood why her kind grandfather had once inspired such fear in her father and uncle.

"Rhaenys," the king said at last, his voice dangerously quiet and calm. "Is this true?"

The weight of his gaze made her hesitate, but she refused to cower. Lifting her chin, she met his eyes.

"Aye, Grandfather," she said. "I want Corlys as my husband. He has the will, the talent—"

"Enough."

The king’s hand struck the table with a sharp crack. "It does not matter why you have ignored a son of House Targaryen and chosen the vaunted Sea Snake. I don’t care enough to know whatever drivel he has filled your head with."

It took all her bravery not to cry then and there.

The king ignored his distraught granddaughter and turned to Aemon and Baelon.

"Aemon, I am asking you here and now. Are you willing to back this madness of your daughter and the overstepping of your bannerman? Driftmark is, after all, sworn to Dragonstone and House Targaryen. Are you willing to ignore your lifelong dream of joining your line with your sibling's? For this ungrateful child?"

Rhaenys saw her father hesitate. He looked at the stoic and emotionless Baelon and then at her.

Aemon sighed and then opened his eyes with determination.

"I am, Father. This is my will. I gave her the choice long ago, and I won’t take it back now. I can’t do that."

The king grimaced, and the tense posture of his shoulders relaxed.

He looked at Baelon and said, "I am sorry, Baelon. It seems that your brother and niece have taken your loyalty for granted."

Aemon flinched as if he had been struck by a dragon’s tail.

"Enough, husband. Do not try to manipulate your sons against each other just to have your way in this," the queen snapped.

The king remained silent.

"I see that you all have made your decision. I am old and nearing the last decade of my reign. I don’t have to worry about my heir’s succession. That will be your headache when you are king after me. Do as you will, but I will not allow money to be wasted on a grand celebration or anything of the sort. If he wants a grand marriage, Corlys can well pay for it himself," the king said, tiredly.

Before anyone could reply, he suddenly straightened and looked at Rhaenys.

"Rhaenys, my sweet grandchild, look at me," the king said. "I will not say no to this if it is truly your final decision. But know this—Corlys Velaryon is known as the Sea Snake, not the seahorse that graces their banner. That is for a reason, and his ambition is the venom of the snake. I advise you to consider Viserys or even Daemon as your husband. You have one day to make your final choice."

The next day, Rhaenys confirmed Corlys Velaryon as her husband. The frown and the stone cold mask of disdain that followed the rest of the meeting on the king’s face was something Rhaenys would never forget for the rest of her life. 

=============

And later, after years she finally understood that her bastard brother’s warning was not a trap like she thought, but a genuine one.

===============

91 AC 2nd moon

Winterfell

Daemon Snow

Ever since the Targaryen left after the wedding, I had been preparing for my journey south, hidden as a bard. I had already met with the five bards under my control about joining them at various times. They were surprised at my decision to travel with them as a lowly bard, but they were very happy to allow me in. The healing I had done for their families, along with the gold I paid them for singing the catchy songs I composed—which made them popular—had earned their trust. It took me years to find these five, and yet I am still searching for more, but it takes luck to find those who match my specifications.

I was returning from my meeting with the bards in Wintertown when I heard that Cregan was looking for me. I entered the lord’s solar of Winterfell, and even without my senses blaring from the mirth and smug happiness radiating from my aunt Viserra, I could see the mocking laughter on her face as she read a letter. She was already with child, and we had developed an almost good relationship. For some reason, she saw me as a kindred spirit—someone who had issues with both the king, the queen, and the crown prince. I never bothered to correct her; unlike her, my life did not revolve around petty revenge.

"Daemon," Cregan called happily. "Come sit. Viserra is just reading the invitation to Rhaenys' marriage to Corlys Velaryon."

I was not shocked, as I had already observed the meeting the king had with the family.

"I already know that, Cregan. I even informed you weeks ago, didn’t I?" I asked curiously.

Immediately, Viserra cleared her laughter. "What do you mean by that, nephew?"

I just smirked.

Viserra sighed. "Of course. How many fucking abilities do you have?"

"Enough," I replied. "By the way, why are you laughing so much?"

"Well, my plans finally succeeded. I wish I could see my father's face when he learns his beloved granddaughter is marrying the Sea Snake. This is the subtlest thing I have ever done. And I must thank you, nephew—Rhaenys already had a very good impression of Corlys since he bested the Northern Voyage and apparently got one over you. I think that was the first time she learned about you or something."

"Oh?" I asked, finally understanding how my warning may have been interpreted by my sister.

"I never knew you had been doing this. Interesting… And that must be why she didn’t take my advice. I told her she would be the 'Queen Who Never Was' if she married Corlys."

"What?" Viserra asked, confused.

"Oh, you’ll see," I said, giving a knowing smirk to Viserra. "Leaving unimportant matters aside—Cregan, I am leaving for the Wall to bring the mammoth herd to the Gift. They would be very useful for us in shipbuilding, as the trees need transportation, and even for tilling the land if properly planned."

Cregan nodded.

"After that, I will be leaving for the south and will not be in contact. It is time that I claim my birthright."

Viserra looked intrigued and wary. She had learned about my abilities and had seen Cregan’s fanatic love and loyalty toward me and our goals. She was a lot happier after being healed, as the worries of childbirth had completely vanished.

"But you are exiled. What birthright?" Viserra asked.

"Oh, Aunt, please. I never visited the south because it was not my will to do so. It is time, and I want to—so I am going. Birthright? The same one you were denied, Aunt—the skies."

Her eyes immediately widened as she understood. "Dragons."

"Which one, and how? The Dragonpit is guarded by the Keepers, and they are efficient."

I smiled. "Dragons are not only found there, Aunt. There are three wild dragons on Dragonstone, after all."

Viserra’s eyes widened in wonder.

"And the king’s reaction?"

"What he doesn’t know until much later won’t hurt him."

========

I was on the Kingsroad when I sighed at Fenrir’s foolishness.

"Oh, come on now, you big furry idiot. Why are you hiding when you know I can always sense where you are from our bond?" I yelled.

A direwolf the size of my horse emerged from the treeline, and anyone could feel the sadness radiating from the massive wolf. Despite his sheer size, he seemed like a small puppy that had just lost its favorite thing.

"Oh, enough with the dramatics. You’re too big for the puppy face to work on me. You’re not coming with me to the south. I am traveling incognito, and that wouldn’t be possible with you following me, you big idiot."

Feelings of sadness hit me through our bond, and images of Fenrir hiding behind bushes flashed in my mind—but it wasn’t enough to sway me.

I snorted, laughter erupting from me at the ridiculous image. I jumped down from my horse and hugged the wolf.

"You will be with me in mind. I want you to stay here in Winterfell so that I can easily contact Cregan," I said while burying my face in the soft fur.

Irritation flickered through our bond, and suddenly, I saw the image of Bear Island and my daughter.

"What, you’re going to stay with Lyanna?" I asked, surprised. "But I wanted you to stay here."

A snort of derision came from the wolf, and he huffed.

"Yeah, yeah, don’t be grumpy. Do whatever you want," I said, ending the hug with a smile.

At least my daughter will be protected, I thought as Fenrir ran back.

================

92 AC

I was at the Crossroads Inn in the Riverlands when I saw my father being killed by crossbows. I had watched the entire campaign from my animals eyes and was surprised that Aemon actually followed my advice. He was always protected by the dragon’s body or wings whenever he was not in his tent or in the air. The Myrish were cornered animals without any choice, but the Crown’s army hunted and killed everyone.

It was after the celebration, when the guards were low, that the assassination of my father happened. Caraxes was outside the camp, as the noise and alcohol made men very rowdy. My father was talking with Lord Baratheon and was about to fly back to King’s Landing when two crossbowmen made their attempt. They were aiming for the prince, and my father died instantly.

The death was shocking in the sense that this was a gamble on my part—whether I could change the fate of people without being directly involved. It seems that the most important events will happen as per canon, even with my small involvement. Prince Aemon was supposed to die at the beginning of the Myrish bloodbath, but that did not happen. Instead, he died after the fighting was over.

Seeing my father dying was not that affecting for me. I felt pity that he had to die so young, and I knew my daughter would be sad that her grandfather had passed. Every other week, there were letters between them, and since there was no grandfather on the Mormont side, my daughter had truly grown close to the prince. I had seen that at the time, and it was the reason I gave that advice to Aemon when we met for the first and last time. Whether he was alive or dead, I understood that he would never try to harm me. Thus, when the news of me claiming a dragon reached the king, it didn’t matter if Aemon was alive or dead.

It was only curiosity that made me follow the fleeing assassins.

In canon, Baelon vented his frustrations on thousands of Myrish. Now that they were already defeated, I wondered what would happen. I pondered whether to do something about the Conningtons. They only dared to act because Aemon had defended me all those years ago, and now they had dared to harm my blood.

And that thought struck me hard and for the life of me I couldn’t just let go the need for vengeance. It was like my own mind raging against the fact that someone managed to harm one of my blood.  But I was the master of my own mind and finally swallowed the need for slaughter and think through logically.

Suddenly, a thought struck me—Lyanna is my daughter. What would people do to her for forcing my hand when the people of this world finally believed the rumors? No definite answer came to me as I considered making an example of the Conningtons.

It was that night, when I felt Fenrir tug at our bond, that I made up my mind. Fenrir was beside my daughter, and she was screaming in her dreams. One word hit me like the attack Balerion had landed on me all those years ago.

Grandfather...

Fenrir was licking my daughter’s face, trying to wake her from the vision or nightmare, but it was no use. I gave the command for him to bite her without too much damage so that the pain would at least break her out of it. I let Fenrir do it, as he knew his strength better than I did—I didn’t want to bite through the bone by mistake. She woke up with another yell as the pain registered, and Lyra finally entered the room. I looked through Fenrir’s eyes and saw the wound. It was big, but she had inherited enough of my healing that the bite would heal in a week.

I closed my connection entirely as despair filled me—I was not there.

Slowly, the anger I tried to bury, enveloped me. These lowly nobles dared to kill one of my blood and, in doing so, made my daughter see nightmares. Aemon had defended me and punished them for me. That is a debt I now intend to repay.

=================

Griffins Roost.

Next Day.

I had to run so fast that I could reach Griffin’s Roost all the way from the Riverlands. I used my birds to scout the road ahead, and whenever I saw someone approaching, I leaped into the trees lining the King’s Road and ran through the branches. At least the deviations through the forests allowed me to gather the herbs needed to put the entire castle to sleep.

I scouted the castle by taking over the rats and cats in it from outside and it was surprisingly easy to accomplish my goals.

I wondered, if Bran had his warg powers when he was still in Winterfell, how much would the story have changed? I whispered to myself as I made my way to the lord’s solar.

With my skinchanging abilities, breaking animals in and scouting was child’s play. I was carrying the lady of the castle and the lord’s three-year-old son. I placed them in a chair before taking out an herb to bring Lord Connington and his bastard brother back to consciousness.

I was already wearing a wooden mask with a laughing face when the lords awoke, their screams of fright echoing through the chamber.

"Now, now, please keep quiet," I hissed.

"What is this?" the bastard demanded, while Lord Connington made incoherent sounds. "Lady Connington—"

Both men staggered to their feet, swaying slightly, but still determined to attack me. The bastard was faster. His right hand shot toward me—I blocked it. His left came at me next, but enraged, I caught it with my own. I tightened my grip, exerting my inhuman strength, and within seconds, he screamed in agony as the bones in his left hand shattered.

Lord Connington froze, panic flashing across his face before he hesitantly sat back down.

"Now," I said, my voice steady and cold. "I am here because you murdered Prince Aemon. That is a crime many people find most grievous, and an example must be made." I placed parchment and ink before him. "You will write a confession for the king and the seven great lords of Westeros. Let me be clear—I am going to kill you, your brother, the maester, and every single person in this castle. There are thirty of you, including the servants. The servants will be spared. They may take whatever they wish from the castle and leave.

"But if you write this confession, I will not kill this fine woman and her child. I will let them live."

Disbelief twisted Lord Connington’s features, and again, he muttered protests.

I sighed, turning to the bastard brother, who was curled up in the corner, sobbing and whimpering. I raised my foot slightly and kicked. A sickening crunch filled the room, followed by a scream of unbearable pain.

"Now start writing," I said, my voice calm. "Or there will be more pain for your dear brother and after him-"  

Lord Connington wasted no more time. He moved swiftly, his hands trembling as he put quill to parchment.

Hours passed, and so did many lives. By the time I was finished, I took the three-year-old boy with me, leaving his mother dead. Two days later, I left him sleeping in front of a sept in the Reach. He never stirred once.

Unlike my father, I don’t leave enemies alive so they can plot revenge. Tywin had the right of it—threats must be eliminated, root and stem.

=======================================

King’s Landing

Baelon Targaryen

For the past few days, Baelon had been feeling uneasy for reasons he couldn’t quite place. He had attempted to divine any dangers, but nothing had been revealed. He knew Aemon was being cautious, always protected by Caraxes, and that he was winning the war. Still, Baelon remained wary and tense. Even the usually unflappable king was weary and short-tempered. He had tried to go in place of Aemon or atleast with him, but both The King and the Crown Prince agreed that it must be Aemon himself who saves his wife’s birthlands.

The answer to his worries arrived in the form of two letters, delivered during a small council meeting.

Baelon sat numb as the Grand Maester read the message aloud, a letter his acolyte had rushed to bring to the king. Jaehaerys had commanded the Maester to read it aloud, seeing as it was from Lord Baratheon.

Your Grace,

It is with deep sorrow that I must inform you of the death of my nephew and good brother, Prince Aemon. He was slain by hidden Myrish assassins wielding crossbows.

Prince Aemon never left Caraxes’ side during an attack, not even while planning his strategies. The entire campaign was a success—every Myrish soldier was wiped out, according to our outriders and even the slaver scum under sharp questioning. The prince had declared the war over, and the remaining Myrish forces were being slaughtered across Tarth and the Stormlands.

The army was in a celebratory mood when the prince finally dismounted from Caraxes and retired to his tent. The next morning, as he stepped outside with me to mount his dragon, a hidden Myrish crossbowman struck. The bolt pierced his throat. I am sorry to say there was nothing we could do.

The prince’s final words were: Lyarra, Daemon, Baelon, and Rhaenys.

— Lord Baratheon

A suffocating silence filled the room. There were splutters of denial from the Master of Coin and even the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. No one dared to look at the king—no one except Baelon. The tension in the chamber reached a breaking point.

“Read the second letter from Lord Connington.” The King ordered to the maester.  

And read he did.

A fucking confession of killing his brother. 

Even with his fading sight due to the fog of rage and sorrow, Baelon saw something that made his mind snap into full clarity. The king had known. There was no surprise on Jaehaerys' face—only rage. He had expected this news but had dreaded the confirmation.

Within a heartbeat, a rage unlike anything Baelon had ever felt burned through his veins. The silence was shattered by a tremendous roar from above.

Vhagar.

The ancient dragon was circling over the Kingswood near King’s Landing before the meeting, her fury already echoing Baelon’s own from their close bond. Her massive form banked sharply, racing toward the walls of the city. A deafening roar rippled through the capital.

“My prince—” the fearful voice of the Grand Maester trembled, but Baelon barely heard him. The entire council, except the king, turned to the windows, watching as Vhagar flew faster than almost anyone had ever seen.

Baelon stood quickly and the chair moved back all the way at the force.  He was almost at the door among the protests of the councilmen due to the disrespcy when his kings voice reaxhed him.

Baelon moved. He stood so suddenly that his chair skidded backward, scraping against the stone floor. He was already at the door when the king’s voice cut through the growing chaos about the clear disrespect of leaving the King without being dismissed.

“And pray tell, where are you going, Baelon?”

Baelon nearly ignored the question. His mind was singular in its purpose: reach Vhagar, take flight, and burn everyone responsible for this atrocity to ashes.

But something in Jaehaerys' voice made him pause. It was not the usual regal authority, nor the weariness of a grieving father. No, this was something far worse—controlled, simmering fury.

So Baelon answered.

“I am going to Griffin’s Roost and turning it into another Harrenhal. I will not rest until Aemon’s murderers are either burned by dragonflame or their blood soaks my Dark Sister.”

The room erupted into immediate protests—pleas about armies, castles, and the innocent women and children who would perish.

“Everyone else. Out.”

The king’s voice was cold and unyielding.

Despite their protests, no one was foolish enough to disobey. Baelon stood near the door, unmoving, as the councilmen shuffled past him and the doors were closed.

“Come here, Baelon.”

Reluctantly, Baelon turned back and approached the king.

Jaehaerys tossed a parchment onto the table.

“Read this.”

Baelon picked up the letter, his eyes scanning the words with growing fury.

King Jaehaerys

I really want to say that it is with sadness that I write this to inform you that Prince Aemon has been killed by assassins with crossbows, dressed as Myrish. But in truth, I am not really sad about the prince’s death. He was foolish and, at times, even insane, and his hatred toward many people made me care very little about him.

Anyway, I have been observing the war from the beginning, and the prince did follow my instructions—never exposing himself without Caraxes throughout the entire campaign. So it was disappointing to see him grow careless after defeating the Myrish. When he was about to return to King’s Landing, he exposed himself outside his camp by walking to Caraxes. Sometimes, it seems, no one can change fate.

Regardless, I was curious about who the assassins were and what they would do after killing a dragonrider. I mean, would they boast about it in inns? Escape back to Essos? But I was surprised when they reached Griffin’s Roost, and one of the assassins turned out to be the brother of Lord Connington. I was utterly confused as to why the fuck that happened—until I remembered the punishment that took place at Rhaenys’ tourney.

Pretty bad of you to keep the insulted still a lord and relevant. You should have taken care of him before things like this happened.

I thought about what to do, and the answer came on the night when someone very close to me had a nightmare of Prince Aemon being killed.

Fate has its funny ways, as the event made someone very close to me deeply grieve—and that was a mistake. I have just ended the Griffin’s line, root and stem. No more future enemies for me or even for you. By the way, you are welcome, and I expect a great reward.

Everyone except the servants is dead. The servants will escape with whatever they can take once they regain consciousness—as of now, while you are reading this. Connington’s letter of confession will reach you, the seven Lord Paramounts, the Citadel, and the High Septon. The servants will spread the tale that the angry ghost of Prince Aemon came for bloody vengeance.

I thought you would like to know this as early as possible to ensure you can retain whatever image of strength that remains for yourselves—and for House Targaryen after your brother’s vassal dared to even think about killing The Blood of the Dragon.

A Well-Wisher of Westeros.

"What the fuck?" Baelon exclaimed. "Who would dare to mock us and my Aemon’s death?"

The king just scoffed. "Anyone could write an insulting letter like this without putting their name, but the matter itself is the more important one. The man conquered an entire castle alone without a raven being sent and made a proud fool like Connington write confessions. The letter arrived in front of me by an eagle. This letter mocks me and even my son's death—all while doing a service to our house. There is only one person I assume has the skills to watch the war unfold and follow two wary assassins. There is only one person who could have dreams of Daemon dying if it was anyone not here—my great-granddaughter, Lyanna Mormont. More than that, there is only one who would dare to do this—my grandson, Daemon Snow."

Baelon gasped in surprise for a moment before rage enveloped him. "That little bastard! He mocks my brother's death and now takes away my vengeance? I shall hunt him down myself and bring him before you. If he watched the assassins, I want to know why he didn’t save Aemon."

"No. You shall do no such thing," the king said. "Daemon probably watched through some animals—he is likely a skinchanger. He couldn’t have done anything, and we have more important matters to deal with than hunting my wayward bastard grandson. Also, he didn’t mock you—he mocked me, just like Connington did when he dared to even think about spilling our blood. I thought that no one would dare to challenge me in my lifetime after what Maegor has done, and even my own punishments to my dear friend Barth and Grand Maester. But I was wrong." The king finished with a calm smile.

For a moment, Baelon felt pity for everyone about to face the monster hiding behind the Good King —but then, the fact that his brother was dead made everyone else irrelevant. They deserved whatever was coming to them.

"Father? What is to be done?" Baelon called after decades of only addressing him as "King" or "Your Grace."

The king looked surprised for a moment before sighing. 

The king looked surprised for a moment before sighing. "No. Nothing would make me happier than mounting Vermithor and burning everything down that made this possible. But no, it is not my fight anymore. I can see the fire in you—this is your vengeance. My grandson has taken one aspect of vengeance from you; I will not take the other part. In return, you will leave Daemon alone. He will be the hidden knife for the survival of House Targaryen if the things get awry for me and you. The rest of our family is too soft or mercurial and the pragmatism required for strength at worst days is missing in them.”

Baelon scoffed. "What vengeance? The bastard took that from me by killing the Conningtons and now you wanted to make use of a wild dragon like Daemon? "

"Oh, Baelon, you think too directly. Everything in this world exists for my use as a Dragonlord and can play a part—if you know how to use it. I shall teach you that later. Now, what does my half-brother write? His goodson is dead by Myrish assassins. This would have ended there, and the bastard Conningtons would have gotten away if not for my grandson.

The Myrish exiles lost in Myr and fled to the Stepstones. They lost there too—to pirates and Tyrosh. After that they dared to attack an island sworn to a Dragonlord after loosing to scums and vermins? They thought that attacking me was easier than challenging the Myrish faction, the Archon of Tyrosh, and some pirates in the Stepstones. It was their arrogance and daring that allowed one of our vassals to plan this and take my son’s life. This is an insult that no true Dragonlord will leave unanswered."

Baelon looked wooried for a moment before the truth of the the words hit him.

"That is correct, my King. They dared to attack us because they feared the Myrish and Tyrosh more. So… are we calling the banners?" Baelon asked, knowing that even Vhagar would be hard-pressed to fight an entire Free City alone.

"No. I am not calling the banners. There will be no war or parley talks. The Myrish and the Archon excused themselves from the events on Tarth when we sent envoys. Now, I will send dragons. There will be no warning for them. Both the victors of Myr and the Archon of Tyrosh, alongside the pirates who supported them, will die in dragonfire. Now come, son. Let me take you to Vermithor and make him come with you and Vhagar."

========

Baelon watched as the king whispered to Vermithor. He couldn’t hear anything, but he could guess what was being said.

After that the king turned towards Baleon,

"Son, you will go to Griffin’s Roost first and burn the castle down. Let it be another Harrenhal—a reminder. After that, you will go to Tarth and send all available ships to the Stepstones. I will use the dragonglass candle to scry every one of the enemies who failed to finish a fight and ran their enemies into my territory. They are celebrating their victory while we mourn—and that is not acceptable.

While the ships go to the Stepstones, Vermithor will lead you to the manses in Myr and Tyrosh that need to be burned down. Then, you are to burn down the walls and gates of the cities. Afterward, you will arrive in the Stepstones and burn all the ships. Our own fleet will have reached there, and they are to loot whatever they can."

Baelon was pleased with the order of vengeance his father had just issued.

"I will accomplish this with complete happiness, Father," Baelon replied with a bloodthirsty grin.

"Baelon, I am sure there will be no defense against the dragons, as this is a surprise attack. But make sure you come back safely, even if you have to burn all of Myr or Tyrosh to the ground. No amount of blood spilled will ever equal my son Aemon’s—or yours."

Baelon simply nodded and vowed to come back no matter what. 

=============================

The events of 92 AC are well recorded in every part of the world, as the message was sent to every Free City;

"If any of the Free Cities' infighting causes even a single death in my kingdom again, then House Targaryen will ensure that there shall be no more wars between the Free Cities at all—just as King Aegon made sure there was no infighting in Westeros. I have extracted my blood price from Myr, Tyrosh, and the pirates of the Stepstones, who sent an army to my kingdom to test the waters, leading to the death of my son, Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen.

King Jaehaerys of House Targaryen,

The Good King of the Seven Kingdoms,

Protector of the Realm."

Thousands perished in the aftermath of Crown Prince Aemon's murder, and every magister or person of importance in Essos whispered of "Cruel’s Heir"—how it was his own vassal who had truly slain the prince. But a king’s word was law, and none dared to protest the blood price extracted from Myr and Tyrosh. More than that, the rumours of The King’s Dragon attacking without a rider present send the entire Essos reeling.

The Bronze Fury and Vhagar burned nearly a quarter of Myr to the ground, and the newly appointed council of magisters—victors of the Myrish bloodbaths—could not even savor their triumph before they too perished in the flames. Tyrosh fared slightly better, as its Archon was the sole leader, and only his manse was destroyed, but the fire started had spread unnaturally and parts of the city was destroyed along with hundreds of men.

Not a single scorpion was loosed upon the dragons—the attack had been too sudden, too swift.

It is believed that this devastating assault was the catalyst for the formation of the "Eternal Alliance" of the Triarchy and the widespread development of scorpions and other means of warring against dragons across Essos.

===================

Author’s note: so that happened…  unlike canon where aemon’s death was a mistake and the targs have their revenge on the thousands of myrish exile in tarth, here it was deliberate assassination and the free cities is blamed for invasion.  Myr and tyrosh sued for peace as they were no where prepared to face dragonfire or the supposed good king who stood for peace for decades would do horrible war crimes.   

Also please note that I had run a festival discount of 10% for 1 month for Potter Tier in Dec 1- 31st last year for ALL my readers. Unfortunately pat reon had other settings…  it only came to my attention that the discount option is only shown to new, free or cancelled members, not existing subscribers. So many had missed out on it and thus I have scheduled the same discount from March 1 to 31st. 

I am grateful to all the support and all can avail the discount by cancelling and restarting the membership!!     

Also i will not be active as usual and replies will be late......

NEXT UPDATE !!

NO CHAPTERS TILL MAY 15 TH. !!!

GLH 13

Disclaimer: This is a story based on Harry Potter, Marvel, DC and Image comics characters and all recognizable characters, plots belong to Jk Rowling,Marvel, DC and Image comics. I claim no ownership to it.

Chapter 13: The World Was Not Ready : Part I

Siberia

Hydra Base.

Harry looked at the hidden Hydra base in Siberia. He had Apparated all the way from Britain, crossing multiple international borders and breaking both magical and Muggle travel laws in the process. As expected, the Aurors had been too slow to track his apparition points, proving their inefficiency once again.

The base was in the middle of nowhere, and the amount of money spent to build it without anyone knowing was enormous. He had long since lost any sense of wonder for such marvels, especially after his attempts to escape this universe had taken him to the DC universe—then to Marvel—where he had seen comics of one world existing in another. That had been truly wondrous.

In his first life, Harry had never read comics and had no idea who the fuck Thanos, the Mad Titan, was. It was only after dozens of time loops that he realized nothing could be done through the magical world alone. Thus, his pursuit of dimensions and alternate universes had opened his eyes to the multiverse.

The amount of knowledge he had gained and forgotten over time was staggering. But Harry knew that universal truths remained almost the same across realities. In many lives, he had seen this base, and in others, it had been abandoned. As he extended his telepathy, he sighed in relief upon detecting two dozen minds—both scientists and Hydra soldiers—along with his actual targets.

Six Winter Soldiers. Mad animals frozen by Hydra because even their mind-control technology couldn’t fully restrain them.

Well, I have no problem with that, Harry whispered as he casually entered the mind of the security officer in the control room.

The screens split into multiple feeds as the cameras moved to capture different areas of the base. With a flick of thought, the man severed the connection between the cameras and the computers, simultaneously shutting down the communication system.

It took only a minute, and the moment the system was down, all the other Hydra soldiers collapsed, unconscious.

Harry whistled a tune as he entered the base using magic. As he walked, he used telepathy to sift through the memories of the scientists and guards. Even with his enhanced processing abilities, he couldn’t scan so many memories at once. Instead, he took a snapshot of them, to be reviewed later if needed. For now, he was brute-forcing his way through, searching for alarms or any failsafe that would alert Hydra to the base’s loss.

He disabled any such alarms and severed all links to the outside world.

Harry finally reached the labs. The room was vast—large enough to fit a quarter of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The scientists had collapsed when he had seized control.

“Well, well, it seems this base has almost everything needed to produce my first power-up—the Super Soldier Serum,” Harry murmured to the empty air.

When he knew he could be send to before he was 17, he had thought so much about the things to acquire. In one of his lives he appeared in Marvel universe, it had been during World War II, and Dr. Erskine had no defense against his Legilimency. Though it had taken Harry nearly a dozen lifetimes of practice to master, the science behind the serum had proven to be worth the effort.

He had even modified the formula to eliminate harmful effects, ensuring it could work on any being—whether wizard, mutant, or even Inhuman.

The Super Soldier Serum was designed to push a human to the peak of their species—at worst. A regular human could reach that level through years of training and the use of chi, but the serum, combined with Vita Rays—essentially life energy—provided a significant chi reserve for the user. It was essentially a shortcut that many chi users took years to achieve, whereas a Super Soldier could reach it after enduring tremendous pain.

============

Harry moved forward and reached the six iced Winter Soldiers' pods. It amazed him how much more advanced other worlds were compared to his own. He saw the unconscious minds of the soldiers and just grinned. It was the perfect state for manipulation.

He didn’t copy their memories, as they were fragmented. When he entered their minds, he encountered interference. It felt like regular psychic protection, but it was ineffective against his experience and power. He found the trigger words used to temporarily control the soldiers and erased them. Next, he altered their memories, making them loyal only to him. in their memories the purpose would be to infiltrate Hydra, becoming his personal weapons.

It was exhilarating to gain powerful minions. After ensuring the former soldiers were now his, he deactivated the freezing mechanism. He had two hours before they thawed out, so he walked toward the control room.

His initial plan had been to kill everyone except the soldiers and then place the base under the Fidelius Charm as his own. But now, after processing the general memories of the personnel, he realized that almost none had significant outside connections—no one who would notice a difference. So he decided to keep them alive, ensuring their loyalty through telepathy and a magical contract that no sane person would willingly sign. The contract would be so one-sided that betrayal of his secrets would be impossible.

Magical contracts worked even on Muggles if signed in blood, as life energy itself was used to bind them. Harry smirked as he recalled another benefit—he could break such contracts as easily as breathing. Only if the other party enforcing the magic was more powerful than him would he be bound by the terms. Here, however, the other party consisted of Muggles. They couldn’t even enforce the contract on regular wizards, let alone him.

=============

Every person in the base, except for the Winter Soldiers, assembled before Harry in the dining area, standing in orderly lines. Panic, surprise, and anger were visible on every face. Some tried to bite down on the poison hidden in false teeth, others attempted to reach for their guns or panic buttons—but all their emotions shifted to pure fear when they realized they had full control of their bodies except for those specific movements to accomplish such things.

They stared at the apparent child before them, feeling the power oozing from him, radiating a danger greater than anything they had encountered before.

Harry waved his hand, transforming a chair from one of the desks, and sat in it like a king.

"Now, now, you’ve gotten that out of your system. You can’t move a single muscle against me. My first plan was to kill everyone and take control of the Winter Soldiers with my magic,

There were immediate protests and denials, but with a wave of his hand, their voices vanished.

"Don’t interrupt me," he said coolly. "As I was saying, you now have two choices. This here is a magical contract that will make you unable to share anything about me with anyone else. If you attempt to do so three times, you will die. Sign it, and I will leave with the Winter Soldiers, sparing your lives."

His telepathy made the offer seem like a godsend to every single one of them. It was child’s play for him to make sure every single person sign and not choose death. 

The apparent leader of the base opened his mouth to protest, but a concentrated telekinetic burst exploded his body.

Many shouted in shock and panic, but they were Hydra—they had seen gore before.

"This is not a negotiation. Sign it. I have other things to do."

Pragmatism won. One by one, they all signed.

Harry smirked as he sensed their hidden plans to signal their superiors in various ways.

"Now, I am a wizard. And the first thing you should know is—never enter a magical contract or oath without understanding its full terms. If you look at the contract you signed, you will see more terms written in invisible ink."

His grin widened. "Welcome to Team Harry. You all belong to me now, not Hydra."

"What?!" the lead scientist shouted in shock.

Harry chuckled. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Every single one of them felt an invisible pressure settle over their minds and bodies.

Satisfied, Harry ordered them to keep the base running as usual, ensuring Hydra wouldn’t suspect they had lost such valuable assets.

"Now, scientists, come to the labs. I’ll teach you how to make the real Super Soldier Serum. You will prepare it exactly as I instruct, and you will never reveal its existence to Hydra."

Despite their fear and anger, curiosity flickered in the scientists’ eyes as they listened.

================================

Days Later

Harry stared at the greenish liquid in the vial—the perfected Super Soldier Serum, specifically designed for those with magic. The fact that Hydra had unknowingly borne the cost of its development made him grin. Even though he was following Hydra’s methods of control and world domination, it wasn’t out of pride or to welcome some inhuman monstrosity from another planet. He had his own plans.

Around him, the scientists spoke animatedly, discussing everything they had seen and learned from him. Harry could feel their fear and loyalty shifting—from Hydra to himself. Everyone had a price, and for these scientists, curiosity and knowledge were their addiction.

Three days earlier, he had already assigned his Body scan and Memory Cache thought streams to determine whether the serum would have any harmful effects on him. He had also factored in the ritual of adaptation he had previously undergone, preparing his magic to accept changes. The third ritual he needed to complete from the set of seven was the one that enhanced strength, stamina, and reflexes. His knowledge and calculations told him that while some effects might overlap, the different sources of power would still provide unique benefits.

"Assignment complete."

 Body Scan echoed in his mind, and a mental hologram of his current form appeared in his vision. Different colors marked how the two strength enhancements would work and where they would overlap. There were no signs of detriment. The decision was made—he would undergo the Super Soldier Serum enhancement now.

Stamina will be essential if I am to use this body to its full potential. Harry thought as he finally decided to use the Serum. Even now, using one of his thought Stream 5% of  magic reserves passively reinforcing his body, along with a telekinetic shield on his skin—similar to the bio-electric aura of Kryptonians, though nowhere near half that powerful.

Only his magic had fully unlocked its potential due to his soul’s nature. His psychic abilities, while formidable, had not yet reached their full omega-level capacity. It was only his skill that allowed him to push his current power to its limits, making the difference between him and an untrained, fully freed Jean Grey almost negligible. But with the Super Soldier Serum strengthening his body, he would be able to unlock even more of that potential.

"Everyone out." He ordered. 

The scientists hesitated, confused. A flare of his power sent them scrambling to obey.

Harry used his telekinesis to set up the Vita-Ray machine and all other necessary equipment for the injection. It took nearly an hour of careful preparation before everything was ready. He stepped into the pod.

The needles pierced his skin, injecting the serum while Vita-Ray energy bathed his body.

Harry had already disabled his passive defenses and activated Body Scan, prepared to welcome the changes and document them. As the serum entered through his hands, his magic responded instantly, welcoming the foreign substance. The serum spread quickly through his bloodstream, reaching the bone marrow and infiltrating every single cell.

Then the pain began.

Every individual cell in his body became a conduit for life energy—Chi. His body greedily absorbed the Vita-Ray energy, and the radiation fueled the transformation. His strength, endurance, and reflexes skyrocketed.

But then the pain intensified drastically.

It became unbearable as his body reshaped itself on a cellular level. His magic and telekinesis lashed out instinctively, trying to eliminate the source of his agony—the Vita-Ray machine. He had to use every ounce of his mental strength to restrain his abilities, forcing them into submission, rather than allowing them to automatically lash out against the pain.

The pain became too much. His vision darkened, his body convulsed—

Then he lost consciousness for a minute.

===========================

Harry regained consciousness with a feeling of nothingness.

Oh, fuck. Did I die? he wondered, recognizing the sensation as eerily similar to Lady Death’s realm. But that was impossible—his calculations had been precise, and even if something had gone wrong, it shouldn’t have resulted in death.

“No, Harry. Your first enhancement was a magnificent success. You were merely unconscious, and I pulled you into my realm instead of the Dreaming Ones,” Lady Death said from her throne.

Lying on the cold floor of the grand hall, Harry lifted his gaze and saw Lady Death sitting regally on her throne.

“For a multiversal being who claimed she couldn’t interfere when it came to Thanos, you seem to meddle in my life quite a bit. I wonder why?” Harry remarked, his tone sharp.

“Oh, my dear Harry, don’t you know? I’ve already explained that my hands were tied by the Living Tribunal’s decree and my own binding words. I cannot interfere in lesser matters, but you… you are no ordinary man bound by such limitations.”

Harry didn’t respond immediately. He wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth.

“I see you’ve started achieving, what you set out to do. The Super Soldier Serum is a good starting point for improving your body’s strength, which—if I may say so—was severely lacking before,” Death said, mockingly.

“And whose fault is that, I wonder?” Harry snapped, knowing full well that she was to blame. Being the Avatar of Death had its unintended consequences.

“Yes, yes, you’ve blamed me a million times before,” Lady Death said with a dismissive wave.

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration but held his tongue.

“Now, the reason I’ve summoned you here is to inform you that the Mad Titan is making his move,” Lady Death stated.

Harry’s anger evaporated instantly, replaced by dread. What madness is he planning now?

“What did he do?” Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Viltrum has appeared in the merged universe, on the outskirts of Thanos’s territory. Thanos possesses enough cosmic awareness to realize that these new memories are fabricated, meaning he knows something has changed. Here—see for yourself,” Lady Death said.

Without warning, Harry’s mental defenses were bypassed, and entire Viltrum war was forcibly imprinted into his memory.

Harry was left speechless. One of his key advantages had been stripped away so suddenly.

With a weary sigh, he muttered, “Well, at least Nolan, the descendant of the Emperor, is on Earth with Mark. So… everyone else is dead?”

“No, not yet. Though some time has passed, Thanos has been biding his time, experimenting with Smart Atoms and the Yellow Lantern Ring. Fortunately for you, he hasn’t been able to integrate Smart Atoms into his own body, but he has partially succeeded in enhancing his Black Order and the Chitauri.”

“He already has an Eternal-Deviant body. Why would he need more power?” Harry asked, confused.

“You’re correct—his Titan physiology is already at the peak of mortal potential. However, he craves the adaptive abilities of the Viltrumites. He seeks to further enhance his strength, particularly because he still cannot move against Odin. If he had this ability during his confrontation with Odin long ago, he would be far more powerful than he is now, because the atoms would have adapted.”

Harry processed the information and nodded.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, after all. But I still don’t understand—why has he left them alone until now?”

Death snorted. “Because he wants to give me all thirty thousand at once. Even Thanos knows he cannot kill them all without a planet-busting attack, but with the Viltrumites’ ability to survive in space and their faster-than-light flight, they could scatter before such an attack is fully powered up. Thus, he’s focusing on improving his troops—but so far, his efforts have been only partially successful.”

“So, I have time to save at least some of them for my cause,” Harry mused, refining his plans.

“That you do. I will keep you informed of any significant developments on his end. It’s quite ironic—Thanos has spent centuries trying to block the sight of higher entities, thinking they care to watch him, but the poor fool hasn’t even considered shielding himself from my gaze.”

Harry chuckled at that.

“Your plan to secure the support of the wizarding world to manage Earth’s affairs is sound, but I suggest you start making moves beyond the magical world now rather than waiting. Phoenix has been bitching for ages about being bound by the bald fool, and I’m getting quite tired of it.”

“I will ensure Lady Phoenix is freed and accelerate my own plans,” Harry said, his mind already formulating strategies.

Death said nothing more, simply dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

======================

Harry woke up with a sharp gasp inside the pod. The lid hissed open automatically, and he conjured a mirror to inspect himself.

His reflection revealed a twelve-year-old boy rather than the ten-year-old he had been before. He would undoubtedly be the tallest student at Hogwarts when school started.

He curled his fingers into a fist, feeling the raw power now thrumming within his body. The strength was nearly equivalent to what he would have when channeling 5% of his magic and psychic abilities through himself. A grin spread across his face as he activated Body Scan, comparing his current form with the projected upgrades.

The most significant difference was his healing. He had expected some enhanced healing —Super Soldiers were known for it—but somehow, his magic had further refined the serum, improving the healing aspect over and above every other aspect of the serum. 

As he sat up, the scientists entered the room. They had already witnessed the transformation.

“Sir, how are you feeling?” the lead scientist asked, a mix of awe and apprehension in his voice.

“I feel fantastic. The process was a success,” Harry confirmed. “Prepare two additional vials of the serum immediately.”

The lead scientist nodded eagerly. “What’s the difference between your version and Erskine’s formula? I can see significant differences in the ingredients.”

Harry debated whether to share the truth but seeing the budding loyalty in their minds, he decided that a little knowledge could serve as the perfect bait to suborn their loyalty from Hydra.

After all willing submission is more efficient than brute control.

“What Erskine’s formula does is essentially what skilled Chi users accomplish through years of training—except the Super Soldier Serum achieves it in mere minutes. It enhances the body to its peak, improving every aspect of the individual. My version, however, is designed specifically for wizards while also fortifying the physical body. If a non-magical person were to take it… they would die.”

And he wasn’t lying. It had taken him nearly a decade in another life to refine this formula.

The scientists gulped in fear.

“I also have the original version,” Harry added, his voice smooth and enticing. “Serve me well, and perhaps I will grant you an upgrade.”

Excitement flashed across their faces, along with renewed determination.

===============================

Two Days Later

In the past forty-eight hours, Body Scan had recorded continued improvements—denser muscle mass, increased energy reserves, and an even stronger connection to both his magic and psychic abilities. His magical reserves had deepened, and his magic recovery rate had improved.

He wondered what would happen once he performed the Set of Seven Ritual designed to enhance magic further.

During these two days, he had also been integrating knowledge into the six Winter Soldiers, ensuring they understood the magical world and the superpowered threats they might encounter. No one outside this base even knew they had been reactivated. Not even Baron von Strucker, the Hydra leader in charge of this facility, cared about them—his focus remained on Bucky Barnes and his use when needed.

Harry had also equipped the soldiers with enchanted rings—each embedded with runes for various utilities, the most crucial being an emergency portkey linked directly to the base if they were critically injured. These rings also allowed him to track them anywhere in the world.

Their first mission: Locate and capture Ulysses Klaue and seize every last scrap of Vibranium in his possession.

To aid them, he provided enchanted compasses and a potent sleeping potion—less effective than the Draught of Living Death but strong enough for their needs. Hydra had vague intel placing Klaue somewhere in South Africa, but nothing precise.

As the soldiers departed, Harry observed the rest of the base’s personnel sighing in relief at their absence. Harry had ensure the Winter soldiers over and above the memory manipulation by magical contracts.  By now, everyone has understood the wizard had somehow made the mad soldiers be loyal to him more than Hydra. 

Harry gave them their orders and assigned tasks before leaving the base to return to Britain. Naturally, he didn’t inform them when he would be back or where he was going. Keeping them uncertain would ensure they remained cautious.

====================

Black Castle.

Harry sat opposite Arcturus Black in the Lord’s Solar, a bottle of Firewhiskey between them. His gaze wandered over the various knickknacks and books displayed in the showcase while he listened to the latest news from the Ministry.

"Harry, are you even listening to me?" Arcturus snapped, irritation creeping into his voice.

"Of course I am, Uncle. I have parallel thought streams, after all," Harry replied smoothly.

Arcturus huffed but continued. "As I was saying—Sirius is free, and the majority of the houses aligned with House Potter have come to me, inquiring about you and the status of the alliances."

Harry nodded. "Ah, well, tell them you have no contact with me. Keep the alliances as they are, and make it clear that you won’t be making any decisions without speaking to me first."

Arcturus looked intrigued but soon shifted topics. "And what about the old goat? He’s expecting a letter from me asking about you. Should we make trouble for him?"

Harry leaned back thoughtfully. Since his clash with Dumbledore, his mind had been analyzing which version of the man he was dealing with. He had been genuinely surprised that Dumbledore had not stalled Sirius's release once the evidence was presented.

"Don’t send the letter," Harry decided. "He’s no fool. By now, he’s likely concluded that I’m with you and possibly even that I was the bodyguard in Azkaban—or even a time traveler. The explosion at the Dursleys’ and my survival is enough to raise his suspicions. Yet, he hasn’t made any visible moves against us. He’s taking a wait-and-see approach. Let’s do the same… after all, I still want to attend Hogwarts."

Arcturus scoffed. "Why, in the name of Morgana, would you waste time at Hogwarts?"

Harry smirked. "I need access to the castle itself, and I have a few recruits in mind. Besides, Hogwarts is the perfect place to lay low while I make my moves. Dumbledore’s secret-keeping habits will ensure that no government interferes too soon."

Arcturus considered that before nodding. "I can see why you want to keep up the ruse for now. Anyway, after some well-placed threats and gold, I’ve acquired the patent from the Parkinsons and transferred it to House Potter."

"Excellent," Harry said with satisfaction. "Also, Uncle, make sure no one learns about my time travel. I’m passing it off as a one-time vision."

Arcturus took a sip of Firewhiskey and nodded.

Changing the topic, Harry asked, "Now, I need to know something—have you undergone any rituals?"

Arcturus frowned. "That’s a personal question to ask, unless you're the Lord of the Family asking to its members. Why do you ask?"

"I need to know whether you and Sirius have done the Adaptation Ritual," Harry explained, a smug look on his face. "If you have, your magic won’t fight against the Super Soldier Serum I developed."

Arcturus blinked in surprise. "Super Soldier Serum? You mean the same one that enhanced that Captain in the Great War?"

"The very same," Harry confirmed. "It will restore your health and extend your lifespan beyond even normal wizarding limits."

Arcturus scoffed. "You just want to enhance your side. Don’t try to manipulate me, dear nephew."

Harry merely shrugged. "That’s part of it, yes, but in the grand scheme of things, the Super Soldier Serum is just a basic enhancement. There are far greater things I’ll be dealing with."

Arcturus sighed. "Fine, fine. I’ll take it when it’s ready." He set his glass down and leaned back. "Now, have you finished your work in the Muggle world for now?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I’m just getting started. It’s time for me to visit America—I have some people to recruit."

Arcturus raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then do you need me to arrange a discreet international Portkey? MACUSA is a pain in the ass when it comes to controlling where you use magic."

Harry smirked. "No need. I’m visiting Muggle America, not their magical world. Even if MACUSA detects magic, they won’t be able to pinpoint me—my defenses against scrying are too strong."

Arcturus nodded in understanding. "Very well. Just be careful, nephew."

=========================================

Alexander Pierce.

Washington DC

He looked at the reports in front of him and frowned as his own experience as a seasoned spy and agent of Hydra raised all sorts of red flags. All the reports were as expected, except for two.

One was from Surrey, London, handled by Coulson’s elite team and the Black Widow. More than that, Director Fury had flown down there to oversee it personally, which interested Pierce very much. The fact that Fury did so while hiding it from S.H.I.E.L.D. records was even more intriguing. He looked at the report and scowled at the name Potter.

For the life of him, he couldn’t remember where he had heard the name, though he was sure he had overheard it somewhere before. The fact that it was barely mentioned in the middle of the report, almost as an afterthought, meant he wouldn’t have even noticed it—if the name Potter hadn’t rung a bell.

Sighing, he realized that even after five minutes, he still couldn’t recall where he had heard Potter before. Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the more important report from his Hydra underlings. As a head, he kept an eye on all the other heads, and Baron von Strucker was one of the most important ones he monitored. The Baron carried the natural arrogance of nobility—his family had led Hydra for generations, and as a result, he saw Pierce as lesser. Additionally, the six Winter Soldiers were under the Baron’s authority and base, requiring special oversight from Pierce.

That’s why it was interesting that, two days ago, there had been a brief power outage, and then everything had returned to normal—except for the sudden increase in resource consumption and funding for a new Super Soldier Serum experiment. As usual, it turned out to be a dud. There had been no prior reports indicating they were close to the testing stage or even that this experiment was in development. It had come completely out of the blue, and that made Pierce wary.

Pierce sighed in exhaustion as he realized he would have to speak to the Baron to check on this. He couldn’t contact that cell directly, meaning he would now have to suffer the indignity of dealing with the Baron’s pride. Memories of various meetings flashed through his mind—gatherings where the generational heads of Hydra mocked the newer ones and spoke nostalgically of the Red Skull. They often reminisced about how it had taken dozens of special individuals to defeat Hydra’s ambitions—Captain America, Stark, Black Widow, Dumbledore, the Human Torch, Potter…

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the name Potter surfaced again.

Damn it. That’s where I’ve heard the name.

So this kid is probably the grandson or great-grandson of that enhanced Potter. I wonder if it was that enhanced ability that caused this destruction. I need to keep a special watch on that investigation now.

 ==============================

Shield Base of Operations

UK

Coulson was tired and at his wits' end with this investigation. Harry Potter was a dichotomy of truth. No one remembered him, even when S.H.I.E.L.D. had found some physical records here and there after a thorough search. Whoever had planned the expungement of records had been in a hurry, and only the knowledge of Potter’s actual existence had allowed them to find at least some bare records in backups.

"Is every investigation like this?" Natasha asked.

This was her fifth assignment after defecting, and her handler for the first three had been Hawkeye. The fourth had been under Fury himself, where she had been tasked with trying to woo Bruce Wayne and investigate him.

And then came Coulson.

Even now, Natasha’s trained assassin mind came up with several methods to kill the balding man—her handler for this mission. She knew the first three missions had been under Hawkeye because, depending on the circumstances, he might have been able to beat her. But this one? Even with considerable skill, both Natasha and Coulson knew he was outmatched by a huge degree.

Yet, there was no doubt from Fury, Hawkeye, or Coulson about her loyalty. It was Coulson’s sheer talent for making friends and ensuring loyalty. Even after only weeks of interaction, Natasha knew she would hesitate if she had to kill him. It was as if Coulson had opened her black heart and triggered her empathy and kindness again.

Coulson, unaware of the harrowing thoughts running through his subordinate’s mind, simply smiled.

"Maybe, Natasha. It depends on the situation, but I can say this is one of those cases where we have almost no clues. Our lack of knowledge on magic and its world is a major hindrance."

"I'm actually surprised. Even with all the knowledge the Red Room crammed into me, there was no mention of magic. I’m surprised Director Fury trusted me with this information since it appears to be so well protected."

It was then that Fury entered the room like he owned it—which, in a sense, he did.

"That’s because, for all its protected status, in the end, it’s useless to you if you defect from us, Black Widow. Even ordinary Muggle-born parents know the truth about magic. You could never find them without someone in the know escorting you."

"Director," Coulson acknowledged, while Natasha simply nodded.

"Director, so why doesn’t S.H.I.E.L.D. just acquire knowledge from the Muggle-born parents?" Natasha asked curiously.

Fury sighed, knowing the answer would not be welcomed by Coulson or Natasha—especially Natasha.

"That’s because our primary playing ground is North America, and there, MACUSA is stricter than even the Chinese. They protect the Statute of Secrecy more than anything. Any Muggle-born child born there is traced as early as possible, and then they take the Muggle-borns to MACUSA, obliviating the parents and anyone else who has knowledge of them. The child is then either blood-adopted into prominent families or, if that’s not possible, raised by the Ministry’s care system, which, as of now, lacks nothing. Every orphan is given a single guardian, so even the children don’t feel like orphans.

If the child is too high-profile, they bind the magic permanently, ensuring there would be no outward display of magic unless under highly stressful circumstances."

Both Coulson and Fury could see the anger in Natasha—it was too reminiscent of the Red Room. The only thing that made it easier to swallow was that at least, here, the children were given love and care.

"And the rest of the world doesn’t do anything? I mean, this is barbaric. At the very least, Britain should fight against this, given their prejudice against Muggle-borns," Natasha said.

Fury nodded at the question and answered,

"The truth is that the International Confederation of Wizards silently supports this method. Their main goal is the protection of the Statute of Secrecy above all else. They have excellent resources, and their war wizards are not to be trifled with.

Britain, on the other hand, still considers every other country inferior due to their proud heritage and the vast amount of magical knowledge among British families. However, that knowledge is dwindling—more and more Magical Lords are appearing in America, while Britain has only Albus Dumbledore. More than that, Britain doesn’t want to start a war with MACUSA because almost all the families in MACUSA are descended from the bastards left behind by British purebloods. No one wants a wizarding war between powerhouses right now."

Natasha remained silent, not wanting to comment further.

"Director, how do you know all of this? Last time, you said it was only Peggy Carter’s knowledge that helped you learn about it," Coulson asked.

"I just had a meeting with the Queen and the Prime Minister regarding the Surrey Incident. They had the latest intelligence and informed me of several things. There was also some news related to Harry Potter. It was chaos in Wizarding Britain..."

Fury finished his long explanation and threw several newspapers onto the table with the heading Daily Prophet.

Both Coulson and Natasha’s eyes widened in surprise at the moving pictures, but Coulson had a far more important question.

"Director, are you saying that someone who personally knew Captain America is alive, still in fighting shape, and related to our person of interest? And that we may even have to meet him during our investigation?" Coulson exclaimed in wonder.

Fury sighed as Natasha smirked.

"Phil, this is not the time for your fanboyism over Captain America," Fury said in exasperation.

Phil flushed but, within moments, had regained his usual calm demeanor.

"So, Albus Dumbledore will be in trouble when Lord Black finally moves against him because he can’t produce Harry Potter’s location?" Natasha asked.

Fury just scoffed.

"Ordinarily, nothing would happen, because Albus Dumbledore is not someone to trifle with, and Britain can’t afford to lose his influence and image. But with the bodyguard in play I am unsure what will happen.”

"So this was the energy we detected in the ocean—where nothing was supposed to be?" Coulson asked.

"What energy?" Fury questioned.

Coulson’s eyes widened as he realized something.

"Director, our satellites and all our equipment in the UK were tracking for any energy outburst similar to the one at the Dursleys’ residence. A few days ago, we barely picked up a reading from the ocean. Look at this—an image of a prison being destroyed by what appears to be a magical attack.

What if both incidents are connected?"

Both Fury and Natasha were surprised, though they showed no outward signs of it.

"And we have no way to compare the two, right?" Fury asked.

Coulson simply shook his head in disappointment.

"I trust your instincts, and that’s one hell of a guess," Fury admitted.

"I agree with him."

A calm voice echoed from the shadows, and immediately, everyone tensed and moved.

Even before the sentence was finished, two bullets shot toward the new presence in the corner of the room. Both rounds stopped mid-air, halted by an invisible shield.

"Now, now, is that any way to welcome a guest?"  Star said, his voice carrying an amused edge.

The three agents finally got a clear look at the masked and hooded figure. It was unmistakable—this was no ordinary intruder. The uniform robes, the magical shield… this was a wizard.

================================

Authors note:  yeah a cliff hanger… The Star is here… i know no one knows how the SSR serum works and thus this is my version of working... it is a permanent shortcut when other chi users works their ass off.....

Also please note that I had run a festival discount of 10% for 1 month for Potter Tier in Dec 1- 31st last year for ALL my readers. Unfortunately pat reon had other settings…  it only came to my attention that the discount option is only shown to new, free or cancelled members, not existing subscribers. So many had missed out on it and thus I have scheduled the same discount from March 1 to 31st. 

I am grateful to all the support and all can avail the discount by cancelling and restarting the membership!!   

Also April month GLH will be probably skipped and both ADS chapters will be published within april 10 itself... after that may month chapters will only be after may 15th as i have commitments at that period.

ADS 28

Last update for malfoy tier. ADS 29 in march first week.. 28 for potter:26-2-25

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 28: The Mad Bastard

The Wolfswood

Daemon Snow.

The last few days had been quite good for me—I had slaughtered my way through the bandits. Whoever said violence is never a solution must have never been in a fight. It was cathartic, and the turmoil of my emotions settled enough for me to think clearly about what would happen when I returned to Winterfell.

I am an adult now, and if I combine the years I have lived, my age would be close to eighty. Holding onto this level of hatred for my father and grandmother at this point is not normal. For fuck’s sake, I am ageless, and yet I still wonder why anger grips me whenever I think of my father—especially when I have done the same, or worse, to countless children of my own across the North. Whatever my issues are, I was never a hypocrite. Yet, the fact that I never even realized this contradiction myself was something that angered me greatly. I had considered all my other weaknesses and taken steps to turn them into strengths, and yet I never realized how compromised my own emotions were.

It took Cregan pointing out that I became irrational whenever the Targaryens were involved for me to finally understand it. And the fact that my little brother had to be the one to point out my weakness pissed me off. It happened during an argument when Cregan realized that if I was in Winterfell when the Targaryens arrived, I would refuse to kneel with the Stark household.

"Daemon, what is wrong with you? You're clever enough to hide your emotions in any other matter, to the point where I have to pry them out, but you wear your hatred for the royal family on your palms. Your plan to disrespect the Queen so blatantly may even lead to useless bloodshed. For fuck’s sake, you even forgave Brandon, your sworn shield, and made me forgive him too—despite the fact that he abandoned his oaths to you and had a bastard with my mother. I love my half-sister, Sara Snow, but if anyone finds out that he did it without your permission, you’ll be forced to take his head. The Targaryens have never even come close to that level of betrayal and disrespect." Cregan had yelled at me.

I was shocked then, as I finally grasped the truth.

"Cregan, you've given me a lot to ponder." I exhaled, rubbing my temples. "In Brandon’s case, I never wanted a sworn shield. It was only a means to an end—to spread tales of my god-blessed abilities among the people of the North. And at the end of the day, love is blind. Let him and Aunt Giliane have their happiness, or do you really want your mother and sister’s hatred aimed at you? Let the story of their marriage spread, and it will be the end of any bad-mouthing." 

After the slaughter, I sat under the nearest weirwood and decided to meditate on my life until now. I wanted to understand why this hatred existed and how I needed to deal with it. After all, everything had happened according to canon as long as I wasn’t involved. Aemon would fight back against the Myrish and die accidently in 92 AC. I had kept an eye on Myr and the bloodbath was just starting.  It was pointless to hate someone when I had already almost had my revenge even without trying. Aemon will never be king and his own wish of Rhaenys being the queen will never happen then.   

The most Aemon had done to me is ignore me and that allowed me to train and attain the power I had today. It was the best thing as I would have been limited in kingslanding.  I will return the favor by ignoring him and what will happen;

Aemon would die, the king would ignore Aemon’s wishes and make his daughter a laughing stock before the realm by ignoring her claim, not once but twice. No matter how I looked at it, I had come out on top without even playing the game of thrones. And yet, my irrational mind in not satisfied with it. 

I closed my eyes, my thoughts drifting back to the first and last time I had met my paternal family. Within minutes, I reached the moment I first gained consciousness in this world. I saw my father’s eyes fading into death, filled with hatred toward me, and my grandmother’s sheer indifference. The only time they had actually acknowledged me. Having an adult mind had allowed me to remember it clearly.

I opened my eyes and sighed. They had never actually harmed me, and yet, I couldn’t let go of my anger. Looking back, the Targaryens had even helped me in some ways. The money they granted me, the king’s decree that no blood of the dragon should be punished—both had made me untouchable in the North. Only my Stark grandfather could have disciplined me, and he had died long ago. I had even gotten my revenge on the Targaryens without trying. The number of them who had died and would continue to die in the future simply because they couldn’t be bothered with me should have satisfied me.

I was never the grudge-holding type. I was the "forgive, but never forget and be indifferent" type—the kind who would never help those who had wronged me. Even in this life, I treated most people the same way—except for my paternal family. Like Cregan said, I had even forgiven Brandon just the other day for abandoning his vows of life and sword to me, for siring a bastard with Lady Giliane. At least I could give him credit for managing to bed a woman so far above his station. And yet, I still couldn’t forget my anger and hatred toward my family. Maybe this was my own version of Targaryen madness.

Every Targaryen had their own kind of madness, both in canon and in this world. Aemon, with his fear of childbirth and his hatred toward me. Jaehaerys, with his obsessive micromanaging of the royal family and his hatred for anything connected to Maegor. Alysanne, with her indifference and unshakable belief in her own opinions. Baelon, with his blind, almost fanatical loyalty to Aemon. It was almost amusing when I heard that the second son had been named Daemon in this life too. I had thought my presence might change things, that the Rogue Prince might be given another name. But Aemon’s attempt to replace me, and Baelon’s support for such foolishness, painted a clear picture. Then there was Queen Visenya, with her disdain for anyone without Valyrian blood.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. I couldn’t keep dwelling on this. Sighing, I decided to enter the weirwood network and observe the recent happenings in Winterfell.

I saw the queen’s arrival and the talk of my presence. I saw the servants being cheeky and laughed to myself—perhaps I should give them something more to gossip about. I watched Aemon and the queen discuss matters, and though I could understand the logic behind their words, they had forgotten one thing—I was not some nameless peasant’s son. I was a son of Winterfell, raised as almost a Stark.

I followed them into the godswood.

Seeing my daughter standing so close to Silverwing made me freeze in shock. My body tensed, ready to brute-force my way through time itself if necessary to save her from harm. But what followed was something I had never even dreamed of.

At least Aemon and the queen were sharp enough to recognize Lyanna and even show some care for her—care they had never shown me. I saw the deep sadness in Aemon’s face as he spent almost the entire day with my daughter, even taking her for a ride on Caraxes.

At least they had not dared to make my favorite daughter sad or harm her. Otherwise, I had no idea what I would have done.

I saw Rhaenys observing her father’s interaction with Lyanna, frowning. She subtly inquired about the girl’s identity, and the queen told her that she was her bastard brother’s daughter—a Mormont at that.

Relief flickered across Rhaenys’ face as she asked if I was married, but when the queen denied it, the relief vanished faster than it had come.

Seeing that my daughter was in no danger, I withdrew from the weirwood network and returned to the present.

I was surprised. They had so easily forgotten about me and treated Lyanna with warmth. I couldn’t understand how they could do that when I, in contrast, could never think rationally where they were concerned.

What was wrong with me?

I let out a bitter laugh and snapped loudly to the forest.

Suddenly, I heard Aethan’s voice in my mind, echoing words from the night my grandfather died.

“….You're crying because you loved him enough that your control over your emotions has shattered. The indifferent mask you always had for others from the first moment I saw you had finally shattered…..”

 I recalled the rest of my thoughts from that day, and the answer struck me like a hammer blow.

I couldn’t feel anything but anger and rage because of my ability to control myself.

I remembered my father’s sheer hatred and fury in my first moment in this life—hatred that should have been love. The baby I had been had imprinted that emotion deep into my mind. My own response that day, just before I lost consciousness, came rushing back to me.

“Fuck the Targaryens.”

I laughed hard as I realized that my own irrational hatred was because of that day and how much the words I casually said because of my own anger at being cheated by the Being send me here.  I was expecting to be Jon Snow after all.  

Fenrir padded over and licked my face, sensing the sheer fear that gripped me. I had spent so long believing I was rational, only to realize I had been acting irrationally because of my own ability. I had pride on my own long term planning and how I was accomplishing my goals to end the threats in this world, but now I have to rethink everything and decide whether it was actually good or not.

I needed my rationality. I needed my logical mind. Without them, I was doomed in this world of death and chaos.

And what would happen if I lost a battle and was the last man standing?

A violent shiver ran down my spine as the terrifying thought took root. I would be nothing more than a vessel for the Night King—or some other entity. A slave within my own mind. That was a fate I had to avoid at all costs.

“Boy, it seems that I was fucked by my own abilities.  Atleast I should correct it as I am going to interact with Targaryens in the coming days and years.  why bother making unnecessary enemies when I could achieve what I want from them without even interacting with them that much.”  I whispered to Fenrir as I scratched behind his ears. 

Fenrir let out a soft huff, sending me his feelings of absolute belief in me.

==========================

It took almost the entire night to unravel the control ability from my emotions. The moment the automatic application of control was lifted, I felt as if a heavy weight had been removed from my shoulders. I had been shackled by irrational hatred and anger. Without serving any purpose to motivate me, such emotions were nothing more than self-destructive forces waiting to consume me.

My father despised me, and my grandmother had insulted me. They had suffered for it—my grandmother lost her children, and my father would die before ever seeing a grandchild from Rhaenys. I decided I would no longer go out of my way to enrage or provoke them. Instead, I would focus on something far more crucial for my survival and my plans to explore this world—securing a dragon of my own.

From the moment I witnessed it easily kill and devour another dragon at Dragonstone, my eyes had been set on one beast. I gave myself two years to tame and bond with it after Aemon’s death in 92 AC. Even if that didn’t happen because of butterfly effect, I resolved to travel to Dragonstone and blend in among the smallfolk. My natural ability to learn quickly would help me mask my accent and integrate seamlessly.

But before I ever stood before the green, deadly flames of the Cannibal, I needed to develop some resistance to dragonfire. I had seen its flames consume dragon scales as if they were mere kindling. If I were caught in such fire unprepared, there would be nothing left of me but ashes.

"Thank you, Cregan," I whispered, realizing that my resistance to dragonfire could be built easily now that there were three dragons in Winterfell.

I considered my options carefully. Silverwing was the first I dismissed—far too old, and I wasn’t willing to risk being turned to cinders instantly. The second was the Blood Wyrm, Aemon’s dragon, but it was the most volatile. I couldn't be certain it would use fire instead of simply mauling me. I had seen it play with its prey many times, only unleashing flames after its victim was already dead.

That left only one option—Meleys, Rhaenys’ Red Queen.

"Well, Fenrir, you should hide when we get near Winterfell. I’ll find Meleys and try to make her breathe fire."

Fenrir gave me a look as if I were an idiot and huffed mockingly.

"Yeah, I know it’s foolish, boy," I muttered. "But I have no choice. I won’t stand before the Cannibal without this. It’s too risky."

Fenrir simply huffed again and disappeared into the forest cursing the Old Gods for making him bonded with such an idiot.

==============================

I was on my way back to Winterfell when I heard a distant roar. Immediately, I connected with one of my eagles, and elation filled me as I spotted the Red Queen soaring over the forest.

I stood in a clearing where the dismembered bodies of bandits lay scattered. The blood had already attracted scavengers, feasting on the remains. I decided to wait there, wondering if the scent of death would draw the Red Queen.

As I had guessed, the dragon descended into the clearing. However, I was immediately proven wrong about her coming for the scent when I saw the slender form of my younger half-sister dismounting. She spoke in High Valyrian, her tone light.

"Thank you, my dear Meleys. I needed to clear my head, and this was a nice flight. I knew you would land in this clearing, as I said."

The dragon sniffed the air, then let out a low growl of warning. At once, Rhaenys tensed, her gaze sweeping over the clearing. Her cautious expression twisted into one of fear and disgust as she took in the gore and scattered body parts.

Quickly, she climbed back onto her dragon, ready to take off in case any threats remained.

"No need to worry about bandits, my dear sister," I said with a grin, stepping out from behind a tree and into the clearing.

Rhaenys stiffened further atop her dragon, her eyes narrowing at my casual tone.

"What? This is your doing?" she demanded.

"Aye, dear sister. I left to hunt this scum, after all," I said with a shrug.

"But this is needless cruelty! They deserve a burial at least. You left their bodies to be devoured by animals," Rhaenys said, her voice filled with reproach.

"Of course I did, dear sister. Why should I bother burying this filth? I have far more important matters to attend to," I replied with an air of indifference.

"Monster," Rhaenys hissed. "And don’t call me sister, bastard. I am a trueborn Princess of the Realm, and you are just a bastard." Her voice dripped with venom, her lips curling into a mocking smile.

My smug grin only widened. The word bastard had long lost its sting, whether it had any in the first place. She must have truly expected it to affect me, for a flicker of fear and surprise crossed her face when she saw my lack of reaction.

"Of course, I am a bastard," I said, my voice amused. "Both literally and figuratively, dear sister. And now, you must think carefully before insulting such a monstrous bastard in the middle of the forest—when you are alone. After all, I could harm you, sister."

Her fear melted into mocking laughter.

"Are you out of your wits? You stand before my dragon, while I sit upon her back. A single word from me, and you would be nothing but ash where you stand. You should be thankful that I do not punish innocent men over foolish words."

She looked at me then, my bright smile unwavering. Something in my expression must have unsettled her, for a storm of emotions flickered across her face.

"That is the most perfect thing you could do for me, Princess," I said with a mocking bow. "After all, I was planning to have Meleys breathe fire on me. I need to adapt to the magical nature of dragonfire, and the other two dragons are far more powerful—and far more dangerous. So, Dracarys is the word, Princess Rhaenys. Say it now." I smirked, spreading my arms as if welcoming the flames.

For almost a minute, Rhaenys remained silent, her mouth slightly open in sheer disbelief.

"What? I am no kinslayer! Are you mad?" she finally yelled.

"Of course, I am mad, little sister. A small piece of advice for you—take it as you will. Everyone in this world is a little mad, and only the consequences of their actions hold their madness in check. You insulted me without reason, and now, you will bear witness to my burning. Had you simply greeted me or even ignored and left me be, I would have enacted my plan tonight when the dragon was alone. But now, this will serve as a lesson—to never insult your elders. And most importantly a valuable lesson to you little sister, never issue a threat unless you are prepared to carry it out. After all, you are supposed to be this land’s future Queen," I finished with a mocking grin as I remembered the future.

Rhaenys snorted. "Oh? You think you can make me do this, bastard? You are truly mad. And these lands’ queen? I am no fool—I did not miss the mockery in your voice nor the implication that I would not be your queen. You seek something that does not belong to you."

My eyes widened briefly at her words before I burst into laughter.

"Oh, sister. I have no lands, and therefore no king or queen to swear to. I could always leave for Essos and do whatever I wish. And as for the Iron Throne? I have no need for a seat that is painful for mere mortals to sit upon. I merely meant that you would curse your own chance of ruling. After all, you are deciding whether to marry the arrogant Sea Snake or Viserys. If you desire the throne, marrying Corlys Velaryon would be idiotic. My second and final piece of advice to you—marry Viserys and be the Queen. Marry Corlys, and you shall be the Queen Who Never Was.

"Now, enough talk. Say Dracarys and let us be done with this. I estimate it will take two days to heal from the burns and return to Winterfell."

Rhaenys stared at me, anger flashing in her eyes. Finally, she shook her head.

"I will not be part of your madness be a kinslayer and I have better things to do. I am leaving, bastard. May you become food for some beast in this cursed forest."

I merely grinned, feigning a wound to my heart. "Now, now, sister. No need for such negativity. Since you refuse to comply, I shall make Meleys do it myself."

I cut my connection with all but Fenrir, focusing my mind.

Rhaenys snorted. "You may have the blood, but you lack the knowledge of even basic dragonlore, Snow. Bonded dragons obey only their riders."

"Oh? Is that so, dear sister? Then allow me to test it," I said before shouting, "Dracarys!" as my mind slammed into Meleys like a battering ram.

The dragon’s mind immediately flared with fire, burning away my intrusion. But black flames engulfed me, shielding me from Meleys’ mental defenses.

A piercing scream from Rhaenys rang out, filled with agony. I ignored it, sending another command to the dragon. Panicked, Meleys did what was natural to her— Breathe fire at the perceived threat.  Lots and lots of fire.  

Immediately I left the mind of Meleys and prepared myself.  

A furious "NO!" tore from Rhaenys, but I paid it no mind.

The dragonfire engulfed me.

For fifteen seconds, I felt nothing—my trained fire resistance battling the flames. By the twentieth second, I sensed faint warmth on my skin. My clothes had already disintegrated into ash. At thirty seconds, blisters formed. By fifty seconds, pain set in—but I suppressed it using my control ability.

Meleys, enraged beyond reason, continued spewing fire, the stench of burning flesh filling the air.

At the two-minute mark, Rhaenys, sobbing in horror, finally regained control, slashing Meleys’ side with her whip. The fire ceased.

I jumped sideways from the burning area.  I opened my eyes and looked at my body. I had protected my face using my hands allowing my eyes to be saved from burning.  Apart from my hands and the place in my stomach, I had stabbed Ice to stop the necrosis of the Night King, my entire flesh had vanished and become ash.  My hands and the place in abdomen which had already injured by magical fire long back had only 4th degree burns. I was glad about the control aspect as I could just mute my pain, otherwise I would have turned insane by this amount of pain. 

Rhaneys looked at me in horror her eyes filled with tears. She was shaking in the saddle, whispering, "No… no…"

I grinned. "Oh, sister. Don’t worry. It’s just a flesh wound. I’ll be fine in two days."

And I was right.

 My own healing has improved so much that I am sure I now has atleast 70 percent of wolverine’s healing ability. Unlimited potential is just such a hack.  And the muscles was already healing slowly to visible eye. 

Rhaenys whispered in awe and fear, "What… how? Who are you?"

"I am god-blessed, sister," I said darkly. "You have heard the rumors. And you will keep this knowledge to yourself."

"And why would I want to do that?" Rhaneys asked, her tone sharp with defiance.

"Because if you don’t, the realm will brand you a would-be kinslayer—driven by hatred and jealousy toward the so-called god-blessed bastard. And if you remember your lessons, the last kinslayer to sit the throne did not have a good reign." My voice was calm, but the warning was clear.

Rhaneys hesitated before nodding. "I will be silent," she whispered, though her face betrayed lingering resentment. Then, without another word, she turned and shouted, "Soves!" The great beast took to the skies, its wings beating against the air as it carried her away.

I sighed, already feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over me. The healing process had already started draining me, but at least I had Fenrir to bring a fresh supply of game—dozens of animals for me to cook and consume while my body recovered.

Surveying the damage left by Meleys, I grimaced. Even a younger, lesser dragon had done this much to me. It was a sobering reminder of how much more dragonfire is. I can now stand in ordinary fire for hours now and yet with dragonfire this was the result.

 I had the foresight to test myself now before standing before the Cannibal. Had I gone to him unprepared, I was certain I would have been reduced to ashes before I even had the chance to react. At least now, I had the experience and the adaptation against Dragonfire to atleast survive the coming confrontation.

==================================

Winterfell

I sat with my back against the weirwood in the godswood of Winterfell while Fenrir rested his head on my legs. I was patting the warm, soft fur of the wolf when the scent and sound of someone approaching reached me—or rather, reached Fenrir first, and our bond alerted me. Whenever I was near Fenrir, our connection had strengthened to the point where I could almost have parallel thoughts. I wondered how much of that was due to my fight with the Night King, which might have helped develop this bond. After all, the Night King had multiple perspectives and controlled many at once.

I opened my eyes and saw Prince Aemon Targaryen walking toward me. Ever since I returned to Winterfell after healing, I had been busy with wedding preparations and had not spent a single minute with Aemon. He had been trying to meet with me alone, without it being an order, and I had been avoiding him—without even trying—simply because I was too occupied. Now that the wedding was over as of yesterday, I knew this meeting was inevitable.

Rhaenys had not said a single word about what had happened, and for the past two days, she had looked at me with a mix of fear and awe. The queen had ignored my presence entirely. At least both Aemon and the queen had spent much time with my daughter, and those were good moments for my daughter.

Aemon reached the weirwood and looked at me.

"Prince Aemon. This is truly a surprise," I said, without any courtesy, still lying with my back against the tree.

A frown passed over his face, and I wondered—was it because I called him "Prince Aemon," or was it my lack of courtesy?

"Surprise? There is nothing surprising about it. A father can have a meeting with his son. I am not 'Prince Aemon' to you. I am your father. Call me that," Aemon said with some sternness.

I snorted and couldn’t stop my laughter.

"You are twenty years too late to establish a father-son bond, Aemon," I said with a grin. "This is the first time I’m meeting you, so yes, it truly is a surprise. What do you want?"

Aemon took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"I... I..." Aemon started, then stopped, as if lost for words. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, he finally asked,

"Don’t you have any questions? About why? Why I hated you and left you behind?"

I looked at Aemon carefully and saw that he was tired. Dark circles under his eyes made it clear he hadn’t been sleeping.

"What is there to question?" I replied. "I know you foolishly blamed me for my mother’s death in childbirth, and you were madly in love with her. That means nothing to me, nor is it something I care about." I shrugged indifferently.

I could see that my nonchalant attitude had rattled Aemon, and I mentally patted myself for maintaining control over my emotions. Truly, sheer indifference was more damaging to Aemon than any rage I could direct at him.

"My son, please—at least shout at me. You may even hit me. Why are you just sitting there, doing nothing? Don’t you even care?" Aemon snapped.

"It is pitiful that it took you two decades to move past your grief," I said, my tone calm but cutting. "And I don’t care about you enough to shout at you or blame you. Do you know something, Aemon? I remember everything that has happened in my life from the moment I first gained consciousness after birth. I saw the madness in your eyes when you heard the healer declare my mother dead. It took me several years to fully understand, but by then, I already had another father figure." I shrugged again. “I lost nothing when you left me here. It was your house that lost much because of it."

Aemon thought about what I meant, and realization dawned on him—the deaths of his brothers and sisters. If I had been in the South from the beginning, they might have lived, thanks to my abilities. He looked at me again, finally understanding the sheer indifference in my words and stance. It was the same cold detachment his own mother had for some people. The same his father had.

Anger flickered across his face, but the mocking grin on mine, as I recognized that I had gotten to him, tempered it.

"I see," Aemon said at last. "You truly are your grandmother’s grandson. The sheer indifference, the lack of care for your blood relatives—it’s just like her."

Aemon smirked as he saw anger flash in my eyes. I was so tempted to let Fenrir take a bite out of him for comparing me to that bitch of a grandmother. The so-called "Good Queen" was someone I had always disliked in my past life, and nothing had changed in this one.

"Ah, well," I said coolly. "I have your blood, after all. And I’m glad it was the indifference I inherited, and not your cowardice."

Aemon smirked. "I’ll give that a seven out of ten. But I’m not young enough to be angered by being called a coward. I was afraid, and I ran away—from duty, from you. It was cowardice." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, I’m not here to trade insults with you. You are my son, and your exile must end. My father doesn’t want you in King’s Landing, but I am sure I can convince him. I came here to ask if, when the time comes, you will come with me and try to mend the rift between us."

I was surprised by the offer, but there was no way in hell I would let myself be trapped in King’s Landing—especially not now. I needed to be free to travel the South. To claim Cannibal.

"You shouldn’t bother, Prince Aemon," I said, stressing the title. "Should such a letter come to Winterfell, the answer would be no. I will not come. There’s no need to mend anything, just so you can placate your guilt. Or is it that, after two decades and you growing old, you finally remember my mother will be very angry with you in the afterlife?" I tilted my head. "Whatever the reason, I don’t want anything to do with you or the king."

Aemon looked as if I had struck him. He sighed, tired and resigned.

I see you have her stubbornness added with my own. I will not send such a letter.  

"I see you have her stubbornness," he muttered. "Mixed with my own. I will not send such a letter, but I will be in contact with you."

"Good," I said simply. "Anyway, I have to go to my sleep now. Get some sleep—you need it."

I stood up, and Fenrir followed suit.

"Also, Prince Aemon," I added, pausing for a moment, "you’ve been good to your granddaughter, so I’ll give you a single piece of advice."

Aemon frowned. "Advice?"

"Always stay on top of your dragon when you’re in enemy territory or a war zone," I said. "Myrish crossbows are deadly at close range."

Aemon’s eyes widened in shock as I walked away from the godswood.

I wondered why I had tried to save my father’s life.

It was a gamble. A test to see how much I could change the canon by just existing. Aemon’s death mattered more to the timeline than Aegon’s or Viserra’s. Would fate fight back?

And if so, how much effort would it take to truly change the canon?

===========================

Maesters often wondered what Prince Aemon’s reign would have been like had he not died in 92 AC at the hands of traitorous assassins disguised as Myrish men. The Myrish exiles who swarmed Tarth were defeated by the combined might of the prince’s dragon, the Velaryon fleet, and Stormlander troops. But victory turned to tragedy for the royal family with the cowardly assassination of the crown prince.

When the news reached King’s Landing, it is said that the king himself had to restrain Prince Baelon from mounting Vhagar and going on a rampage. Yet, not even the king’s closest confidants knew that the usually wise and benevolent ruler was merely waiting for the full picture to emerge—before proving that he was indeed King Maegor the Cruel’s nephew after all. No matter how far one tries to run from it, blood still reigns supreme.

=================================================

Author’s Note:  Yeah that happened… daemon is finally over the emo-moody teenage behavior whenever targs are considered.  Rhaenys is traumatized by the madness or is it greatness? I wonder.

Anyway, to tell you the truth, in my initial plan I had no plan to make the meeting between aemon and daemon. It was supposed to be left to readers discretion and daemon not initiating such a meeting because he didn’t want to change the canon.   But thorugh out the story I understood not even having a single conversation will be disappointing for all and thus this happened.

Aemon who loves and hates daemon at the same time, in his maturity wanted to mend the relationship by the time he is king.  But was stopped by the sheer indifference of daemon.

Also please note that I had run a festival discount of 10% for 1 month for Potter Tier in Dec 1- 31st last year for ALL my readers. Unfortunately pat reon had other settings…  it only came to my attention that the discount option is only shown to new, free or cancelled members, not existing subscribers. So many had missed out on it and thus I have scheduled the same discount from March 1 to 31st. 

I am grateful to all the support and all can avail the discount by cancelling and restarting the membership!!   

ADS 27

Update for malfoy tier.. open for Potter tier on :  13-2-25.

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 27: The Dichotomy of Love and Hate

90 AC

Kingslanding

Cregan Stark

It had been one week since he arrived in the capital, and the betrothal had been announced, with a tourney set to celebrate the occasion in two moons. The sheer number of jealous murmurs he had heard through Winter made him laugh—so many people envious of his royal marriage. Many still couldn’t comprehend why the king had agreed to such a match. Whispers spread that the Starks had hoodwinked the Targaryens: first, the Crown Prince falling for a northern bastard; then, no real punishment for violating the Queen’s orders and taking The Gift back; and now, a royal marriage. The rumors of the cure he had provided for Aegon only grew stronger with each passing day.

Only disbelief and wariness toward heathen ways prevented people from approaching him for a miracle cure. Some believed it worked only on babes. Whatever they believed it was getting harder not to find the enjoyment in their bluster.

 During daytime for the last week, he had spent time courting Viserra, and surprisingly, he liked her—just as she seemed to like him. Winter could sense that Viserra disliked most of her elders and had been engaging in something nefarious. Only the contempt and mockery he felt through winter had kept him from taking offense when Viserra insulted the northern fleet and its trading success in front of Rhaenys, comparing it unfavorably to the Sea Snake’s ventures. Why Viserra went on to list the various family lines through which Corlys  is related to the royal family and especially Rhaenys was a mystery to him.

 Aethan Reed had also reported seeing Corlys Velaryon spending much time with Rhaenys, discussing great voyages and the supposed greatness and lineage of House Targaryen and Velaryon.

“Aethan, why do you look so surprised by Rhaenys and Corlys?” Cregan has asked as he could see no reason for him to care about the Royal Families marriages.

“Lord Stark, you know about the Targaryens’ power of dragon dreams and our own version of green dreams?” Aethan asked.

“Aye, Daemon has taught me about it—how the future is shown through visions that are difficult to understand,” Cregan said.

“Well, Daemon, as always, is blessed in this as well. He has seen many things. I don’t know how much he has shared with me or even you, but he once said Corlys would marry Rhaenys. However, the Rhaenys in his vision was older than our princess. I thought it was unlikely, and even Daemon was confused about how it would come to pass. But now, it is happening—just as he foresaw,” Aethan said, a strange gleam in his green eyes.

Cregan processed this, his eyes widening as a thought struck him. My father… my grandfather? How did that happen if he could dream so much?

“Ah. That is because he has never foreseen the Starks' path, and whatever he could see would change drastically because of his presence. Even so, he foresaw Bennard’s betrayal long ago. That was the true reason he was never as close to his children as he was to you—notwithstanding that his children followed their father’s footsteps in hating Daemon.”

Cregan frowned before a memory hit him and he started laughing. “You are correct. He knew. Daemon knew about the betrayal long ago— when our uncle banished him to Bear Island. Uncle accused Daemon of harboring betrayal, and I still remember the nameless expression Daemon had then… and the laughter that followed.”

“Typical Daemon,” Aethan said with a shrug.       

By nightfall, Aethan excused himself to his room, leaving Cregan alone with his thoughts.

Lying on his bed, Cregan wondered what else Daemon had foreseen and why he had not shared any of it with him. Perhaps that was why, when he drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of Winterfell—of his younger days when Daemon used to tell him epic stories.

Cregan!

He dreamed happily, as he remembers the story and how exciting it was for him, but the story was interrupted—by Daemon. Older, as he had last seen him before his journey to King’s Landing and not the younger version that should be telling the story.

Awareness and fear gripped Cregan as he realized Daemon was dreamwalking, peering into his mind.

“Daemon… How is this possible? Should I be worried about any others and why now?”

“Oh? It is easy, my dear brother,” Daemon replied. “You are in my paternal home, and I am in my maternal home. Isn’t it interesting that both have protections against this type of magic, yet I can breach them because of my blood? Even then, this shouldn’t be possible for anyone else. The Starks and the Targaryens have stronger defenses in their mind, but our bond allows me to connect to you. The inherent protections would take care of anyone else.”

Cregan calmed as the fear of outside control vanished.

“Why are you contacting me like this?” he asked. “I thought we agreed not to communicate at all—someone might see me talking to an animal or thin air.”

Daemon scrutinized Cregan before speaking.

“What the fuck are you doing, cousin? Why didn’t you follow the King’s word and marry in King’s Landing? You have no business dragging me into the middle of the Targaryen family affairs.”

Cregan was surprised—he had thought Daemon clever enough to guess his reasoning. But like all things Targaryen, his brother is highly irrational and he had lost patience to think through.  

“No business? So you don’t want to attend my wedding? Why shouldn’t I have the elder of my family officiate my marriage?” Cregan snapped.

“Oh, is that so? Then we could have held a northern ceremony in the godswood at Winterfell after the southern function. That’s not the true reason. Answer me now,” Daemon demanded coldly. The dream world trembled with rising emotions.

“You’re too clever, Daemon, but not clever enough when it comes to the Targaryens. Have you ever thought about why you act so irrationally when making decisions regarding your paternal family? I want you to reconnect with them. You still have a father, a grandfather, an uncle—you still have a chance to be part of their lives, while I have no one. The old gods denied me a family, but you? You could have made them call you back to the South themselves, made them welcome you into the family. Why are you running from them?” Cregan shouted.

“Oh? You think I’m a coward who flees confrontation?” Daemon’s voice was sharp. “I didn’t want to meet them without knowing I could escape—even from dragons—if need be. I refuse to feign love or respect when I have none. But, my dear brother, the time for running is over. I was planning to return south anyway. I have plans to enact, dragons to tame… and perhaps even princesses to seduce.”    

“What?!” Cregan asked, shocked. He could see that Daemon has ignored his first question, but the answer was pure arrogance that he has never seen anywhere else. Even the king is not this arrogant or indifferent. “Daemon, you’re banished from the South. The King proclaimed it to me just this week! Why are you taking such a risk?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Cregan,” Daemon said with a dismissive wave. “I won’t be going as myself. I’ll dye my hair black or shave it off entirely. It wasn’t vanity that made me write that song about my half-black, half-silver hair—it was so the bards would make it famous. I’ll travel as a bard, let the people hear my divine voice.”

Cregan cringed, remembering the first time Daemon had ever sung—it had been horrendous, so much so that even Fenrir had attacked him. But, as always, by spending time with dozens of bards, Daemon had somehow turned his talent around.

“Daemon… Are you sure you want to go as a bard? Your talent will make you stand out.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I know how to blend in—I’ve watched people do it all my life. Anyway, it’s too late to change your wedding now, and I’ll be attending, regardless of who else does. It’s happening far earlier than I expected, but at least it’ll be entertaining to needle my grandmother if she actually comes,” Daemon said with a grin.

Cregan looked thoughtful before asking, “So what’s her issue with you, Daemon? Is she that entrenched in the Faith of the Seven?”

“Not at all, brother. The truth is, at the end of the day, there’s a little madness in every single one of us. The only thing that restrains it is the fear of consequences, the leashes we place upon ourselves. Alysanne Targaryen is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and she has no leash to hide her madness. Hers is the madness of partiality—of loving too fiercely and believing her opinions to be infallible. When she loves someone, it is absolute. And when she does not? It is pure indifference and neglect.

She has been like this since her youth. She loved her brother Jaehaerys more than anyone else and supported him in usurping her nieces' claim. She adored Saera so much that she still dreams of bringing her back, but she disliked Viserra enough that she would have betrothed her to Theomore Manderly had he not given his full support to House Stark and my ventures. She cherished Daella, yet her daughter is an Arryn, and the queen has never visited her—not even once.

Likewise, she decided to hate me—whether for my bastardry or for my mother, whom she sees as a seductress who led her ‘innocent’ crown prince astray. This is my best guess as to why she behaves the way she does.”

Cregan was bewildered. “That’s… some deep thinking. And now that you mention it, it makes sense in hindsight. So that was why you asked me to bring old Theomore himself to King’s Landing? That explains the relief Viserra felt when she first saw me—and Theomore—when we were introduced at court. Winter is always a blessing to have with me;  as it lets me sense others’ feelings.”

“Aye, you are correct, Cregan. And you should worship me for my benevolence in helping you with Viserra,” Daemon said with a smug grin.

Cregan scoffed. “That’s irrelevant, brother. She would have fallen for me anyway—I’m the handsome one between us.”

Daemon merely smirked in mockery. “Anyway, now that you recognize my wisdom and my plans within plans, you should promise not to meddle any further with the Targaryens for my so-called benefit.”

Cregan nodded with a sheepish grin.

“The night is still young,” Daemon continued. “Tell me all about my paternal side—especially Princess Gael and my half-sister. Tell me what you’ve sensed through Winter’s eyes. I’ve seen their interactions, whether through warging or greenseeing, but having Winter’s perspective will be useful for my future plans.”

Cregan sighed, knowing this would take a while.

“So…” he began.

===================================================

3 Moons Later

Daemon Snow

Winterfell

‘Fuck it. Having a little brother sucks’.

I was sitting on the sidelines of the training yard, observing the men train while lost in my thoughts.

I watched the men-at-arms and could tell they had plateaued in their physical development. Even they seemed to sense something was wrong—many had stopped training altogether, focusing only on honing their sword skills under Brandon’s careful eye. My own mood was mercurial, burdened by the fact that I now had to deal with my paternal family, far ahead of my plans.

Cregan had arrived at Winterfell two weeks ago, and I knew the Targaryens would soon fly north for the marriage, while Viserra’s belongings were being sent ahead. Cregan had already informed me that Aemon, Rhaenys, and the Queen would be attending the wedding—Aemon to give Viserra away in the King’s stead, and Rhaenys, apparently close to Viserra, wanting to fly Meleys as part of her training.

But what puzzled me was why my sister was coming here at all when, according to Cregan, she despised me. From what he had gathered through Viserra, it stemmed from her mother’s influence and the arguments Aemon had with her about me.

That had left me speechless then.

My father hadn’t seen me since I was two weeks old, yet this woman still found a reason to hate me. Or maybe it was plain jealousy—jealousy over my mother? Or maybe it was the fact that I am a male and Aemon had stopped having children with only Rhaenys.  I had seen many meetings when The King snipped at Aemon for having no more children.  I was sure that the king had extended the same care and love to Jocelyn too.  Or maybe it was something else, afterall there is no need for a good reason for hating someone.   Shit happens.

I frowned as I noticed two men laughing while sparring, their half-hearted efforts grating on my nerves. A sudden urge to punch something surged within me. But even I understood that when progress became stagnant, it was hard to train with the same intensity and the training will become boring. The laugh and fun mood was the result of that boredom.

Then, an idea struck me.

For years, I had trained my body by wrestling with Fenrir. Fighting a direwolf who could kill with a single swipe of his paw had been painful—at first. Until I healed. Adapted. Became stronger. Even Fenrir had grown more lethal from those bouts, sharpening his instincts alongside my own.

And so, the answer to their boredom became clear: Wrestling.

What better way to improve than by forcing two men to overpower each other, with the winner earning a prize? And I’d get to hit something in the process.

I would set some rules—no breaking bones, no eye-gouging. Anything else could be healed.

Rising from the bench, I stretched my arms, feeling the weight of my decision settle over me. The moment I stood, the men around me tensed, their eyes flickering with unease as they sensed my shifting mood.

“Proud warriors of Winterfell, I’ve just had a brilliant idea to strengthen our bodies and escape this tedious boredom.” I grinned.

Immediately, I saw the worry etch itself across every face in the yard.

I just grinned.

====================================

Omniscient POV.

Queen Alysanne had to swallow her laughter as the young Tully boy attempted to woo her granddaughter, Princess Rhaenys. They were attending a feast at Riverrun on their journey north, a necessary stop before reaching Winterfell.

Rhaenys had only ever flown Meleys over King’s Landing, Dragonstone, and Driftmark, yet she had been adamant about accompanying them to Winterfell for her beloved aunt’s wedding. Alysanne had been tense ever since her daughter, Viserra, had grown suddenly closer to Rhaenys years ago. She had watched them converse again and again, searching for any hidden scheme Viserra might be plotting. Yet, to her surprise, she found nothing. For all intents and purposes, Viserra truly seemed to love her niece as she should.

Alysanne had noticed Rhaenys becoming more serious in her lessons and thoughts over the past few years, but her motivation had increased drastically since befriending Viserra. The girl had even sought out the King for lessons on the history of House Targaryen and Velaryon, eager to understand their connections. Alysanne chuckled, recalling her husband’s expression when Rhaenys had questioned him about the Velaryons. Ever since the Sea Snake had been appointed Master of Ships, Jaehaerys’s dislike of Corlys had become evident—and she could not blame her King. Corlys’s casual arrogance was greater than even the Lord Paramounts’.

But Alysanne also understood that Rhaenys had been determined to accompany them for some hidden purpose. The tension in her posture, the weight of her thoughts—it all led to that conclusion.

Her musings were abruptly cut off when a Frey boy attempted to court Viserra. The entire hall fell silent at her daughter’s sharp retort for the heathen comment.

“The next person to insult my future husband’s family,” Viserra declared coldly, “will lose their tongue.”

Aemon, who had been casually eating throughout the exchange, merely picked up the heir’s knife and set it down on the table with deliberate ease.

Alysanne sighed. What was it with her children and their fascination with taking tongues in defense of the Starks?

She raised a hand, calling for peace and dismissed the tension.

Maybe next time I will allow, the fools who dared insult her daughter’s choice of marriage to receive whatever punishment his children devised.

=================

That night, Alysanne ordered Rhaenys to sleep in her chamber for comfort. Her beloved daughter Gael had been left behind in King’s Landing—Alysanne knew such a journey would be too taxing for her delicate nature. She had also given explicit orders to the Kingsguard and Septas to keep Daemon away from Gael, ensuring that he would never corrupt her youngest daughter.

In the dim candlelight, Alysanne spoke in a low voice.

“Rhaenys.”

Her granddaughter, who had not been sleeping but rather lost in thought, responded immediately.

“Grandmother?”

“Tell me, child, what is on your mind? Why did you insist on accompanying us? I know you have been close to Viserra for years, but I suspect this is neither about your friendship with her nor about training your dragon-riding skills.”

Rhaenys sighed, rubbing her temples in exhaustion.

“Well, you are correct, Grandmother,” she admitted. “I want to see my father’s mistakes with my own eyes before I decide on my future king consort.”

Alysanne almost yelled in shock before forcing herself to lower her voice.

“Your future king consort is Viserys. That decision was already made by the four of us—me, the King, your father, and your uncle Baelon. Just as your uncle Baelon will serve as Hand of the King, Viserys will be your king consort. Daemon or Aegon will be your Hand.”

Rhaneys who knew aboyt the unofficial decision already made at their birth didnlt get angry or sad.

“Grandmother, I love viserys as he is my cousin, but I will be honest with you, I am not attracted to him.  He will make a fine Hand of the Queen, but not my King Consort.  I would have, off-course followed my elders wishes if not for the dangers to my claim to the throne. 

“Daemon Snow,” Alysanne interrupted, her voice sharp. “That is why you are reconsidering, isn’t it? He is a bastard, Rhaenys. Even the North could not stand against the other six great houses alone for a mere bastard, even with Stark Blood when there are many legitimate heirs. You have nothing to fear, my dear. But tell me, who else could you possibly be considering over a Targaryen? Viserys will have a dragon—that is the greatest security you could ever ask for.”

Rhaenys nearly snorted but held back. Mocking the Queen, even privately, was not wise.

She knew The Queen never believed any of the songs or tales of magic, but she knew his father, uncle were not fools and even when a learned man like Ser Otto said he had verified some tales, it should not be taken lightly and yet The Queen couldn’t see past her own opinions.

Grandmother, I asked Viserys to come with me to claim Dreamfyre,” she said. “But he was uninterested. He wants to wait. I suspect he hopes to claim Silverwing after your time, as its gentle nature is more suited to him.” She shook her head. “Even having a dragon does not make one a true dragonrider. If he has no will to wield his power, what use is it? I know him better than anyone, and I know this—if he ever had to command a dragon to burn people, it would break him. That is why I need to see my brother for myself. I need to decide whether I require a husband with ambition, with the will to protect my claim and enforce my orders.”

Alysanne clenched her jaw, her anger toward her bastard grandson flaring. Even his shadow haunted her favored grandchildren, influencing their choices in ways she could not prevent.

“Rhaenys,” Alysanne said after a moment, “your father promised you the freedom to choose your husband, and my husband’s iron will has softened in his old age. He will not force you to marry Viserys against Aemon’s wishes. The fate of Saera shattered his resolve—he will abide by his heir’s decision in this. Even a dragon less child disobeyed him for their desires and he knows what would his own heir with a dragon will do, if he orders something that is not welcome. But I ask you, child—you say Viserys has no will to fight for you, but what of his father and his younger brothers?”

For a moment, Rhaenys looked surprised, as if she had not considered that.

“I see you had not thought of it,” Alysanne noted, her tone measured. “and why would you? Even being more skillful in almost anything and having the biggest and most battle tested dragon, Baleon’s loyalty to his brother was never in question. Everyone had taken it for granted while you forgot our own history in just previous generation.  The younger brother with bigger dragon declared himself king over his rightful nephew and look what happened.

She let the words hang in the air.

“Baelon’s loyalty should be rewarded,” she continued. “Even if he serves you only because Aemon wishes it so.”

Rhaenys sighed, deep in thought.

“I will consider this, Grandmother. You have given me much to think about.”

Silence enveloped the room.

=============

Queen Alysanne Targaryen observed the kneeling northern men as they welcomed the royal family. After an appropriate time, her son commanded them to rise. Her gaze shifted to the Stark who would soon marry her daughter.

Lord Cregan was handsome, and there was something about him—something familiar, something that that made the stark just more like her family.  She wondered what made this generation of starks have the otherworldly beauty that the Valryians are famous for. He looked genuinely pleased to see Viserra, and the subtle tension he had held in King’s Landing was missing here. She understood—this was his home, where he felt safe.

 She glanced toward the back of the crowd, searching for her bastard grandson, but found no sign of him. When Aemon voiced the same question, it was Lord Cregan who answered.

“My prince, we received reports of bandits in the Wolfswood. Daemon and Fenrir left to deal with them. They know the forest better than anyone.”

Alysanne immediately understood why daemon went away when they arrived.  Her grandson had to kneel before them if he is in Winterfell when they arrived as tradition and courtesy dictates, but instead, he had conveniently disappeared.. How simply intelligent of him to just go away to avoid that.

“Oh, he left alone to deal with bandits? And just yesterday, knowing we were arriving?” she asked, her voice full of skepticism. “I wonder, what foolishness he had to go alone in a forest where a group of men could ambush him.”

Cregan hesitated for only a heartbeat before bowing slightly.

“Your Grace, Daemon is not in danger. Fenrir is larger than even Winter, and there is nothing in that forest that could harm him. He alone is enough to track and kill the bandits.”

Alysanne saw the honesty in Cregan’s eyes—the absolute belief in his words.

Viserra will have her work cut out for her if she hopes to influence this fool against his bastard kin.

Alysanne sighed inwardly. He truly believes in these otherworldly things.

=======================

The wedding was set to take place in two days, and Alysanne was restless. She was old now, and the cold of the North seeped into her bones in a way it hadn’t decades ago when she had last visited. Even the warmth of Winterfell felt insufficient, and there was a subtle but undeniable feeling that she was not entirely welcome in the castle.

It was the small things that no other noble lady would notice, but Alysanne had always considered the servants and smallfolk worthy of her attention. The servants of Winterfell followed the rules of interacting with nobility to the letter, but their eyes did not lie. She had observed them—the men-at-arms, the castle staff, everyone—and the way they treated Viserra was very different from how they treated Aemon, Rhaenys, and herself.

Viserra received warm, kind smiles, while they were met with nothing but rigid respect. Alyssane had even overheard some of the servants whispering about Daemon, calling him their "god-blessed," hated and belittled by a "hateful harpy of a queen." They whispered how someone who seemed so kind to them could be so cruel to her own grandson.

She had wanted to punish the servants for their insolence, but her son, Aemon, stayed her hand.

"No, Mother," he said firmly. "Do you really want to alienate the staff of Winterfell when they are so welcoming towards my sister? And besides, they only wonder about what I myself have questioned for years. Your indifference and love to your own blood without any rhyme or reason." His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of something sharper beneath it. "At least I had a reason to hate my son for so long. I was young, foolish, and mad with grief. But you… you have no reason.

"Similarly, for a long time after Aemma Arryn’s birth, I thought it was because she lacked the Targaryen name—you were indifferent toward that granddaughter of yours. But then I saw how little you liked Viserra once she finally stepped out of Saera’s shadow. Just like now, you suffocate my youngest sister while remaining indifferent to Daemon the younger—yet you dote on Aegon, a boy saved because of Daemon’s wisdom.

Alysanne looked as if she had been struck by the question. But she immediately composed herself and replied coldly.

"I love all my family, but Daemon Snow is a bastard. He is not family. If we considered every dragonseed to be one of us, then half of Dragonstone would be related to us in some way or another. The only reason our line has avoided an overabundance of dragonseeds is that my brother and both my elder sons were monogamous. Even my father, my brother Aegon, and that traitor Maegor left many dragonseeds behind—did we acknowledge them as our uncles or nephews? No, no one did that.

"The mistake, Aemon, is not mine. It is yours. You acknowledged your bastard before the realm—a boy born not even of a Stark girl, but a Snow. You should have known there was no future where you could marry a woman already carrying your child. You should have returned to King’s Landing the moment you knew she was with child. I tire of this stupidity, of you blaming me as if I have wronged him. yet the only person who could truly admonish me remains silent and understanding."

Aemon looked confused for a moment when Alysanne sighed and replied.

Aemon hesitated for a moment, his brows furrowing in confusion. Alyssane sighed and answered the question before he could voice it.

"Your father—the King. He knows the truth. That is why he remains indifferent to how I treat Daemon. You should follow his example, my son. As for the servants… I will turn a blind eye to them for now, for Viserra’s sake. I am weary of this cold and this castle. Aemon, come. You will escort me to the godswood, where Silverwing is roosting. I wish to see my beloved dragon and bask in her warmth."

Aemon wanted to refuse, but the sharp look in his mother’s eyes stilled any protests.

"Don’t think you have escaped my question about the other Targaryens, Mother."

=======================

 Aemon and Queen Alyssane entered the godswood through the Stark entrance. Only members of House Stark could use it, or those granted permission by Lord Stark himself. They had been given such permission, as Silverwing preferred to spend her time in the godswood, sometimes even lying in the hot spring-fed lake. Both Caraxes and Meleys had been forced to roost in the Wolfswood, as Silverwing had claimed this space for herself. Even Alyssane had been surprised when her dragon had snapped at the younger dragons, sending them away. Even Caraxes was afraid to start a fight with the bigger one.

As they walked deeper into the godswood, Alyssane shivered against the northern cold. From afar, they could see Silverwing’s massive form shifting, her head moving as she made small sounds. Alyssane frowned—she had expected her dragon to be resting.

When they got closer, the source of Silverwing’s movements became clear.

Both Aemon and Alyssane froze in shock. A girl, no older than six or seven, stood by the dragon, scratching its scales and speaking animatedly. Even more astonishing, a massive bear lay a short distance away, completely unbothered by the dragon’s presence.

Aemon knew that Silverwing was the most docile and friendly of dragons and had never killed a human. However, startling her now could be dangerous. Even though the dragon was known to be gentle, no one had ever dared to get so close—even in the presence of the queen. Even their own family was cautious around other’s dragons, except for his father.

He saw the surprise on his mother’s face quickly give way to fear and even anger. Alysanne started briskly walking forward, but Aemon immediately caught her hand in warning.

Mother be calm. Your fear and anger will affect the dragon.

Alysanne stopped at once and took a deep breath. She immediately connected with her dragon—and was met with another surprise.

Alysanne felt neither hostility nor indifference from Silverwing. Instead, the dragon radiated exasperation, a kind of amused fondness toward the girl speaking to her, and even contentment at the scratching and patting. The dragon felt Alysanne’s presence and immediately sent a welcoming trill, eager to show her the child she had found—oh, and the pet bear too.

"Come, son. Silverwing knows we are here now," Alysanne said as they entered the clearing.

The bear immediately lifted its upper body and looked at them. They hesitated, but the bear simply lay back down and closed its eyes. Now, they could clearly hear the excited voice of the child.

"My mother said not to bother other animals or try to befriend them. She told me they would attack me, and she even said I'd be punished if I went looking for dragons, especially since three were coming with the Targs. But I know you’re all just big cats, and my pats will make you like me. Isn’t that right, Silverwing? You’re so beautiful—more than the Red Queen and that snake-headed red one. You are the Silver Queen, the Queen of Beauty!"

Aemon and Alysanne froze, utterly stunned by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

But Aemon… he found himself liking the girl’s voice. He admired her bravery, the sheer wonder and happiness in her voice. What would he give to get back the worry free and innocent days back. He sighed internally even though a smile appeared in his face. And, oddly, he felt a strange sense of kinship with her.

Hem hem.. the queen made some sound to attaract the girls attention, but the girl was really engrossed in the dragon.

Alysanne, who had dealt with many children before, sighed and nodded at her son. Aemon stepped closer and gently placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

"Girl, who ar—"

Perhaps it was the strength of his grip or the speed with which he moved, but the girl reacted far faster than Aemon thought possible. She yelled in surprise, bending forward to escape his grasp. In the same motion, she whirled around, a knife already in hand, stabbing toward him with a fierce snarl on her face.

Only years of training allowed Aemon to react in time, stepping back just enough to evade the strike. He looked down at her face—and froze.

The girl looked up at him—and froze as well, her wide eyes locking onto his hair and eyes. A second later, she hastily dropped the knife, her expression shifting to a sheepish grin tinged with fear.

Aemon, however, remained frozen for another reason.

She had Lyarra’s eyes and same wild spirit. His beloved Lyarra.

And beneath the northern coloring, he could see it—the same sheer, inhuman beauty hidden in her features, just like Rhaeny’s beauty hidden by black hair. He had already felt some connection to the girl from afar. And now, combined with how much Silverwing tolerated her antics, the truth settled in his mind.

Granddaughter. Daemon’s child.

A harsh sound tore through his thoughts—his mother’s voice.

"Girl," Alysanne snapped, her anger evident as she processed the fact that her son had nearly been stabbed by a mere child.

"Mother," Aemon warned, his voice calm. "It’s all right. The little lady was startled. The fault is mine. One should not touch a lady when she is engrossed in something. Isn’t that right. Lady..?"

The girl hesitated. "Lyanna Mormont," she said, then quickly added, "My prince."

His mother made an irritated sound.

Aemon knew Alysanne hadn’t seen his Lyanna yet, as his body blocked the girl from view. He stepped aside.

The moment Alysanne caught sight of the child, her sharp voice turned into a snap. "Girl, I appreciate your preparedness, but how could you attack a prince of the blood? And what foolishness led you to pet my dragon? She could have ki—"

But Aemon smirked as his mother’s voice, once filled with anger, slowly shifted—to curiosity, then wonder, and finally recognition.

Alysanne fell silent. She understood now. This child was Targaryen by blood. The answer to Silverwing’s unusual friendliness was clear. And she finally understood Aemon’s smirk and his apparent lack of concern over the attempted attack.

The girl shifted uncomfortably. "My queen?" she asked hesitantly.

Alysanne shook her head. "Lady Mormont, since my son was unharmed and found no fault, you are forgiven. Now, on to more important matters. What made you come here and pet a dragon? That was incredibly foolish. You could have been burned—or killed."

"But, Your Grace, Silverwing was welcoming. I came with Teddy to watch from afar, but she sniffed me out and called to me. And I know no animals will harm me. Also… I couldn’t be burned. I once touched fire, and I felt only warmth."

Both Aemon and Alysanne’s eyes widened in awe. They had good fire resistance—but neither of them were unburnt.

"I see," Alysanne murmured. "Silverwing is always friendly, but you are fortunate it was her and not another dragon. Beware, young lady—never approach a dragon without its bonded rider. Do you understand?"

Alysanne’s emotions were in turmoil. This was her first great-grandchild, but this was the bastard’s daughter. And she could already see it—the sheer cuteness of the girl. She would be more beautiful than her own Saera.

The girl nodded. "I understand, Your Grace."

Alysanne pressed on. "Now, tell me—who are your parents?"

At that, the girl hesitated. Alysanne saw her eyes widen slightly, and realization dawned—Lyanna had just now understood that she was standing before her grandfather and great-grandmother.

"My mother is Dacey Mormont, heiress to Bear Island. And my father is a bear in the forest."

"What?" Alysanne said in shock. "A bear? Don’t joke with me. Who is Lady Dacey’s husband? Tell me his name."

"But my mother isn’t married. Even my grandmother isn’t married. I’ve heard that in other houses, if a noblewoman is the last of her line, someone will marry and take her name. But Mormonts don’t do that. We have children, and they are always named Mormont. That was our tradition when the Ironborn ruled us, and it remains our tradition under the Starks."

Alysanne whispered, "But… only the king has the right to—"

"Mother," Aemon interrupted. "This has been their tradition for millennia. The Conqueror allowed the noble houses to keep their customs unless he explicitly denied it."

Alysanne hesitated, then finally nodded.

Aemon turned back to the girl. "So, Lady Lyanna, do you know the name of this 'bear in the forest'? Did your mother name him? Did he name himself?"

Lyanna looked down. "I promised not to tell his name to anyone… when he returned to Bear Island."

Alysanne nearly hugged the girl on the spot to calm her down and pinch the cheeks. She was so huggable and adorable. She wondered if Silverwing’s fondness for Lyanna was influencing her own feelings.

Aemon nodded. "Oh? Then there’s no need to break that promise. Come, child. Since you know the name, you must know who I am. Walk with me—I want to learn all about you."

Aemon saw Lyanna was worried and was hesitating, so Aemon added, "If you do, I’ll tell you about my dragon—the snake-headed one. I may even introduce you to him."

Immediately, Aemon could see all the worry and fear vanish from his granddaughter's face, replaced by excitement.

"Really? Then come! I will introduce you to Teddy here and even Fenrir when he comes back to me—after he gets bored with Uncle Daemon. Come pet him here, I found Teddy here when I was only two, in a cave in the forest with his mama bear."

Alysanne was once again surprised, and even a sense of worry for the girl entered her mind. She decided to have a talk with Lady Mormont about how her blood had found its way into the forest when she was only two.

The girl started running but came to an immediate stop. Aemon thought it was out of courtesy to the queen, as tradition dictated, but the girl completely ignored his mother. Instead, she ran to Silverwing and hugged the dragon's neck as it lay on the ground.

"Oh, Silvy, I will come back to be your friend so you are not lonely and even bring some meat for you. If the servants don’t give me any, I could make Fenrir or Teddy hunt something for you. Don’t worry, I will keep you company when you are here."

The dragon simply purred and trilled in contentment.

At that, Aemon had to swallow his laughter at his mother’s expression.

========================

Authors Note: yeah that happened….  Surely daemon’s plan to hide his child and never saying to lyanna he is her father would have worked wonderfully…..

Dear Readers,  please note that I had run a festival discount of 10% for 1 month for Potter Tier in Dec 1- 31st last year for ALL my readers. Unfortunately pat reon had other settings…  it only came to my attention that the discount option is only shown to new, free or cancelled members, not existing subscribers. So many had missed out on it and thus I have scheduled the same discount from March 1 to 31st. 

I am grateful to all the support and everyone can avail the discount by cancelling and restarting the membership!!   

GLH 12

Disclaimer: This is a story based on Harry Potter, Marvel, DC and Image comics characters and all recognizable characters, plots belong to Jk Rowling,Marvel, DC and Image comics. I claim no ownership to it.

Chapter 12: Aftermath

The Black Castle

They appeared in a whirlwind of magic in the welcoming hall of the castle. Harry and Arcturus landed gracefully, while Sirius was unceremoniously thrown to the ground, the effects of the potions already wearing off.

Harry made his way to a cushioned sofa and sank into it, exhaustion settling over him. Using so much magic in this body was difficult—the sheer power he had unlocked was still something his body struggled to adjust to.

"Well, that went well," Arcturus snarked as he settled into another chair.

Before anyone could respond, a wand was suddenly pressed against Arcturus Black’s neck—Sirius stood before him, eyes blazing with fury.

"What the fuck do you want with me? And where is my godson? What have you done to him?"

Arcturus merely scoffed. "Oh, don’t make me laugh, grandson. If you had shown this level of concern that night, perhaps you wouldn’t have been tossed into Azkaban like discarded trash," he retorted.

Harry could see that Sirius was at his breaking point. He had had enough.

"Enough, both of you. I’m here," Harry said firmly, dispelling the magic that had given him an adult appearance.

Sirius froze as the illusion unraveled. He took in the familiar messy hair and those striking green eyes. The face wasn’t James’s—it was more regal, more refined—but the eyes… the eyes stole his breath. They weren’t the eyes of an innocent boy. They were old, filled with the weight of battles fought and wars survived. Then Sirius remembered—the duel, the raw power Harry had wielded, holding his ground even against Dumbledore. His mouth went dry.

"How? What is this? How—?" Sirius spluttered, struggling to form words.

"Oh, don’t bother asking, grandson," Arcturus drawled from the side. "He may try to dress it up in fancy words, but the truth is simple—he is a Peverell who delved into soul magic and sent his soul back. That is the only explanation for the sheer magical power he wields."

Harry wasn’t surprised that a man as learned as Arcturus had deduced the truth so quickly.

"Harry… what happened? What could have possibly driven you to do something so dangerous?" Sirius asked, his voice raw with emotion.

"War and death, Sirius, It is not something I can explain now with you in this state. You must heal and then I will tell you my story," Harry replied. "I regained my memories and, after recovering, I sought out the only man who had ever truly cared for me." His voice was honey-smooth, calculated along with his trust me aura using telepathy that he learned from Charlus Xavier. "I wanted you free because I know you're innocent. And I need you, Sirius. I need you as my right hand—to help me build a world where I can live in peace. I need my godfather, the one who will never betray me. I need an adult who can get things done while I remain hidden, at least for now."

Sirius looked at him as though he had been handed a lifeline.

"Of course, pup. Of course, you’ll have me. I fucked up for ten years, but I swear I’ll make it right," Sirius vowed.

He moved toward Harry and pulled him into a hug. Harry, caught off guard, awkwardly patted his back. Before he could say anything, Sirius’s body went limp—he had lost consciousness.

With a flick of his fingers, Harry used telekinesis to move Sirius onto the couch. A few diagnostic charms later, he ensured that Sirius was experiencing the most restful sleep of his life, while potions were directly absorbed into his system.

"That was quite the performance, Harry. And an impressive display of healing," Arcturus remarked mockingly.

"Oh, that was no act, Uncle," Harry replied smoothly. "I need him. I need him healthy and free to move in both the Muggle and magical worlds." He pulled a vial from inside his robes. "This potion will accelerate his recovery—both physically and mentally—if he receives proper nutrition and adequate rest." He glanced at Arcturus. "Also, I want you to make the first move against the Ministry before they have a chance to push their narrative."

Arcturus leaned back, looking thoughtful. "I’ll send Sirius to our Caribbean retreat to recover," he decided. "Fudge will undoubtedly move against me once he’s back, but I’ll make sure tomorrow’s Daily Prophet prints the truth. A few choice images from memory should do the trick."

"Will the Prophet actually publish it?" Harry asked, skeptical.

Arcturus smirked. "Oh, don’t worry about that, dear nephew. The editor is a personal friend of mine." He paused before adding, "Anything else my lord would like to command me to do?" His tone dripped with sarcasm.

Harry frowned at the jab but pushed forward. "Yes, one more thing. I want the patent and rights to convert magical potions into pill form. House Parkinson owns them, and I want them transferred to House Potter."

Arcturus grimaced. "And do you intend to pay for it? Or is it my gold that you plan to spend?"

Harry shook his head. "Gold isn’t the issue. The Parkinsons will never sell to House Potter unless I resort to illegal means. But the name ‘Arcturus Black’ isn’t one that people deny easily. The Parkinsons have no real use for those rights—everyone hates taking pills, and the ICW has banned selling magical medicine to Muggles anyway."

"And what exactly do you intend to do with it? The ICW is not an entity you can fight without things turning… ugly," Arcturus said, studying him intently.

Harry smiled, slow and knowing. "Oh, I won’t fight them. I’ll sell to the Muggles, of course."

Arcturus raised an eyebrow.

"The ICW’s greatest strength lies in the knowledge they have hoarded over the centuries, Albus’s influence as Supreme Mugwump, and the unwavering support of MACUSA and its powerful magical lords. Isn’t it ironic, Uncle?" Harry mused. "The bastards left behind by Britain’s purebloods in America have risen to such power, and they mock Albion for its so-called ‘lack of strength.’" His smile sharpened. "Thus, when the time comes, I’ll start with India. A land where mystics, shamans, and even many Muggles still believe in magic."

Arcturus studied him for a long moment, knowing that Harry was right. Only two magical lords had been born in Britain in the twentieth century—Harry and Riddle—while MACUSA had produced nearly a dozen within its states. But Arcturus could see the unwavering determination in Harry’s eyes; whatever his plan was, he would not be swayed. With a quiet sigh, Arcturus nodded in acceptance.

===============================

The Star

DOM

The Star read the paper carefully, wondering why the Director hadn’t intervened when he knew for a fact that the man had been present at the Battle of Azkaban. His eyes flicked to the moving images of Baron Black, and a single question echoed in his mind—why now? He had believed that Lord Black would never be seen alive again in his lifetime.

Sirius Black Innocent? Ministry scandal and Lord Black Defeats Dumbledore.

It was a shocking revelation for the Minister, Lord Malfoy, DMLE Director Amelia Bones, and our esteemed Headmaster when they learned that Lord Arcturus Black, Baron of Britain, had returned from his self-exile to free his grandson and heir, Sirius Black. Lord Black had only recently uncovered the Ministry’s grave injustice against his family—Sirius Black had been kidnapped all those years ago and had never received a trial.

No one present at the Death Eater trials remembered such proceedings, and upon reviewing the Daily Prophet’s archives, there was no mention of a trial or a verdict—unlike the cases of other convicted Death Eaters. This reporter is heartbroken at the suffering of an innocent Heir of Noble and most Ancient House of Black and asks for forgiveness in the name of all good Wizards of Britain.

From the memory I was lucky enough to view, it is evident that Lord Malfoy had wanted a confrontation, likely hoping Sirius Black would be "accidentally" killed, allowing his own son to inherit the Black family fortune. Unfortunately for Malfoy, Baron Black arrived prepared, accompanied by a single bodyguard. The confrontation left Malfoy without a wand arm, the Minister and Lady Bones injured, and—most astonishingly—Dumbledore himself defeated. The Black Baron and his companion shattered Azkaban’s wards and escaped unscathed.

"Someone dared to strip a citizen of Wizarding Britain of their fundamental rights and condemned him to a decade of torture. My brother-in-law, Charlus Potter, and I fought against the Dark Lord Grindelwald all those years ago because he did the very same thing. I was buried in grief after the deaths of my sister Dorea, my wife Melania, Charlus, and my nephew James Potter. But Sirius Black was Harry Potter’s godfather—his rightful guardian. And yet, those in power saw fit to throw him into Azkaban without trial. For a decade, I hunted the reason why."

"And I finally found the reason last week, Sirius Black was innocent, and they knew it. To control my grandnephew, Harry Potter, they did the unthinkable."

When our reporter pressed further, asking how Sirius Black could be innocent, Lord Black merely smirked.

"Oh? You want to know? Let that be a surprise for now."

This reporter was deeply moved by the sheer conviction of Lord Black—a man who once fought for this country in its darkest hours and has now risen once more, proving his righteousness beyond doubt. His triumph over Albus Dumbledore and his daring rescue of his innocent grandson from Azkaban stand as a testament to his action’s righteousness in Lady Magic’s own eyes. 

=================

"Star, I see you’ve been reading the papers about the Blacks," the Director’s voice echoed through the room.

Star immediately stood. "Director, yes, it was intriguing. It’s not every day that our calculations turn out wrong. Ever since the Harry Potter incident, that seems to be the case."

The Director nodded. "I can see the question in your eyes. Ask away, my dear friend."

"Why did you and Albus Dumbledore let them escape? As much as I know Baron Black, he is not powerful enough to evade both of you," Star asked, confusion evident in their tone.

The Director remained silent for a few minutes before replying. "I didn’t intervene because that would have caused confusion among the Blacks and Dumbledore. The moment I arrived at Azkaban, I knew the bodyguard was dangerous. My own magic prepared to fight even before I saw him. I am quite certain that the Headmaster didn’t simply let them escape—they surprised him with their power, and they got away. It was the bodyguard who did the work, not Lord Black."

"I see… But for someone to make you wary and even surprise the Headmaster, he must be a Magical Lord. But how is that possible? Every single one of those overpowered, prideful fools is accounted for," Star questioned.

The Director looked pained as he admitted, "It seems that things are beyond even our control. It is not easy to outplay fate and Lady Magic herself. Sometimes, anomalies happen—just as Tom Riddle happened.

"Now, enough of that. What’s the progress on locating Potter? His godfather is free now, and he is the rightful guardian. I don’t want Black to have two Class-1 threats on his side."

Star grimaced. "Unfortunately, there are no leads. The Muggle spooks have also hit a dead end. The lack of any records or memories of this child, when the recordings clearly show his presence, is baffling. Whoever erased him was too professional, and except for the shield, everyone else has ignored this mystery. I have Legilimised dozens of people, and none of them were Obliviated or had their memories suppressed through mind magic. It was something else—only a telepath could have done this."

"I see… Continue the investigation and monitor the situation. Also, I heard from Malfoy that one of the old houses has liquidated its entire vault into Muggle currency. Such a major interference in the Muggle world shouldn’t be allowed. Malfoy believes it might be connected, and there’s a chance it is. Find out which house is responsible."

Star nodded at the order and left to meet their contacts.

=====================

St Mungo’s

Fudge groaned as he woke from his healing coma. As the fog in his mind cleared, the first emotions he felt were anger and fear. He groaned again, forcing his eyes open, and was met with the sight of the Headmaster reading The Daily Prophet, his eyes twinkling and a grin on his face.

"I hope you're enjoying The Prophet blasting Black’s foolishness —challenging you alongside three competent wizards," Fudge hissed.

"Ah, Cornelius, just the man I was waiting for," Albus said cheerfully. "But, alas, I must disappoint you. The Prophet is not condemning Black—it’s tearing into me instead, questioning my weakening in old age. The bodyguard defended against all my attacks and even shattered Azkaban’s wards before portkeying away." His tone turned semi-serious, the twinkle in his eyes dimming slightly.

"What?!" Fudge yelled, his face turning red. "You let them escape?! This is preposterous!"

His gaze locked onto the Headmaster—the most powerful wizard of their time—and he observed something unusual. Dumbledore looked… relieved, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I assure you, Cornelius, I didn’t let anything happen," Albus said calmly. "I am not infallible. The bodyguard’s skill and power caught me off guard. At the very least, I ensured that no Dementors or prisoners escaped and that both you and Amelia survived. Unfortunately, Lucius's wand arm is gone—it was turned to ash by one of our spells," he added with a hint of mirth. 

"Are the Aurors hunting for the Blacks? Have their assets been frozen? Have arrest warrants been issued?" Fudge demanded.

"Ah, but the confusion within the Ministry—both you and Amelia injured and still recovering—has stalled the process. No one dares to provoke the Blacks while The Prophet is relentlessly exposing the illegal imprisonment of Sirius Black and the lack of a trial. The wizarding world is in chaos, Cornelius. Even the most devoted Light supporters are furious, and the fact that the supposed ‘right hand of Voldemort’ was never even questioned has only made things worse. The public is outraged at the incompetence of the ministry. There are voices echoing how many of their lost ones is because of said incompetence."

"This is a disaster," Fudge muttered, his face pale. "And they don’t even know about the other issue…" He grimaced, his hands trembling slightly.

After a moment of thought, he straightened. "Chief Warlock, I’m calling an emergency Wizengamot session to address this. I will push a petition to have Lord Black arrested and made to answer for this transgression."

Albus’s smile vanished. "Minister, I strongly advise against that. Baron Black is still a respected figure, and many Lords fear him. The Prophet is already making it seem as though he even bested me. You should reopen Sirius Black’s case and summon the ones responsible for his incarceration—namely, Barty Crouch Sr. and former Minister Bagnold. Let them take the rightful blame and be the scapegoats."

"And admit that something is wrong with the Ministry?" Fudge scoffed. "Never. Chief Warlock, send out the owls. The meeting is in two days."

Albus Dumbledore merely looked nonchalant at that before giving a quiet nod of agreement. 

Fudge swallowed his anger at Dumbledore as the man whistled out of the room as if there is nothing wrong with the world.

‘Pathetic and mad in old age.’  His mind whispered.

===========================

Two Days Later

Wizengamot

Lord Black entered the Wizengamot chambers with a deafening boom, blasting the grand doors open. The goblin-forged steel crashed against the stone walls, sending echoes reverberating through the chamber. A smug smile tugged at his lips as he took in the wide-eyed shock of the gathered Lords and Ladies. But it was the expressions on Malfoy’s and Fudge’s faces that truly made his day.

He cast a fleeting glance toward the Auror guards stationed at the entrance, nodding slightly. The guard hesitated but did not move to stop him. If he had done his job properly, this entrance wouldn’t have been possible. Only a select few—Harry, Dumbledore, or the Dark Lord himself—could have broken through those wards, but he could do too, afterall money is also a form of power.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Fudge yelled, his voice weaker than usual, still recovering from his injuries.

Lord Black snorted in open derision. Fudge recoiled as though he had been physically struck.

"I hold a seat in this chamber, Minister," Black said smoothly, his smile sharp as a knife. "And I have come to attend this meeting, for I have much to say to this assembly of respected lords."

"But you attacked me, the Chief Warlock, and the Director of the DMLE!" Fudge snapped. "You should be under arrest and presented before the Wizengamot for judgment. Aurors, arrest this man!"

"Enough."

Albus Dumbledore’s voice cut through the murmurs growing within the chamber. The murmuring had intensified into a full-blown discussion as lords turned to one another, debating the legality of the situation and Baron Black being arrested.

"Cornelius," Dumbledore continued, his tone patient but firm, "you do not command the Aurors. Lady Bones does. And you’ll notice… she remains silent."

Fudge’s face twitched.

"You called this emergency session to present evidence against Lord Black and request an arrest warrant from the Wizengamot," Dumbledore went on. "Yet now, you attempt to bypass due process entirely. You are violating multiple laws, Minister."

"Thank you, Albus, for illuminating that truth," Lucius Malfoy drawled, voice laced with sarcasm. "However, the fact remains—Lord Black and his mysterious bodyguard have inflicted grievous harm upon myself and the leaders of this country." He raised his right arm, now fitted with a sleek, silver prosthetic. "Do not let the devious tongue of Lord Black whisper poison into our ears. Let this farce end—arrest him now, and reveal the identity of his bodyguard immediately."

Black chuckled darkly. "Oh, Malfoy, still licking your wounds, I see. It seems your plan to kill my heir in Azkaban failed spectacularly. You orchestrated that fight and now, with me standing in your way, you seek to remove me as well."

His voice turned cold, his gray eyes dark with fury.

"I fought against those who sought to continue torturing a pureblood heir—my grandson—with Dementors. If the Ministry refuses to acknowledge that crime and punish those responsible… there will be blood. House Black is prepared to declare a blood feud against all who had a hand in my grandson’s illegal kidnapping and torment."

A collective gasp rippled through the chamber. The history of House Black’s blood feuds was well known—many noble families had been wiped out entirely through those very means.

Lucius Malfoy merely scoffed. "Blood feud? You would resort to barbaric and archaic traditions?" He sneered. "And with what family, Lord Black? House Black is reduced to an old man and a disgraced, escaped criminal. Your threats carry no weight anymore."

Lord Black just grimaced as the other lords looked entertained by all the drama. But many still feared the consequences as you don’t know when House Black’s mail come to you with something you cannot afford not to do.   The grimace turned to a smirk as a plan came to him.

"You always were a fool, Malfoy," he said, shaking his head. His voice turned almost conversational. "I always knew Narcissa chose wrong when she married you."

His smirk sharpened.

"I, Lord Arcturus Black of House Black, hereby disinherit Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, from House Black. All assets used for her dowry are to be returned to House Black immediately."

A pulse of raw magic surged through the chamber. A grim-faced, spectral hound—the manifestation of House Black’s magic—appeared in the center of the Wizengamot before vanishing in the direction of Malfoy Manor.

Lucius Malfoy paled. His lips parted slightly, his expression a perfect mix of fury and horror.

"You were saying, Malfoy?" Black taunted, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Also, you questioned what families would support me? As of yesterday, I am the regent of House Potter."

The chamber exploded into shouts and gasps.

"What?!"

"Impossible!"

The noise became so deafening that Dumbledore was forced to raise his wand, casting a Silencing charm to silence them.…

"Lord Black," Dumbledore said, his expression unreadable. "I assume the Goblins and the Ministry have verified this claim?"

"But of course, Chief Warlock." Black looked downright gleeful. "My grandson, Sirius, possesses a copy of the Potter will, naming him regent and guardian of Harry Potter. Even if that was not valid, my brother-in-law Charlus Potter and I signed a mutual agreement of protection and guardianship. My nephew, James Potter, in his foolishness, neglected to renew it. But still—the blood relation exists. That was enough for me to claim regency until Sirius recuperates."

It was clever of Harry himself declare Arturus regent but the public didn’t need to know that. Black thought as he saw the headmaster hiding something behind his Occulmency.

Dumbledore’s expression tightened slightly. The regency was lost to him, he thought as he saw Lord Black’s smug grin.

"Headmaster, my owl will arrive shortly, demanding you inform me of my grand-nephew’s location. It is time he returns to his magical bloodline." His tone was mocking, knowing full well that Dumbledore would now be implicated in Harry Potter’s disappearance.

Dumbledore’s eyes no longer twinkled. "I will await your owl, Lord Black.

Before anyone could regain control of the room, a new voice cut through the tension.

"Lord Black," said Lord Greengrass coolly, "as entertaining and dramatic as your return has been, we require proof. The Prophet claims you possess undeniable evidence of Sirius Black’s innocence. If so, let us see it, and end this farce."

Oh, I am to proved proof.  Black said as he a trunk from his robes pocket.  Black opened the trunk with a wand wave and a rat in a glass container  floated out. 

Everyone was speechless as they couldn’t understand but many guessed it was a animagus. 

Black’s smirk turned downright sinister. He reached into his robes, pulling out a small trunk. With a wave of his wand, the trunk snapped open—and a glass container floated out.

Inside was a rat.

Silence gripped the room. Many were confused, but a few narrowed their eyes.

"This," Black declared, voice carrying through the chamber, "is my proof."

He flicked his wand, opening the container. The stunned rat tumbled to the floor with a small thud, a pained squeak escaping even in its unconscious state.

Fudge sneered. "A rat? Have you lost your mind in your old age, Lord Black?"

Arcturus’s smirk vanished.

"It was my mistake to expect intelligence from a fool, Minister," he said coldly. "Next time you interrupt me or disrespect me, I will take it personally."

A shiver ran through the chamber.

"As many here have already guessed," Black continued smoothly, "this is an Animagus—one who has been hiding in rat form for years." His gaze swept over the assembled lords. "Tell me, my fellow Lords—should we truly allow a man so woefully ignorant of basic third-year Transfiguration knowledge, to remain Minister?"

Fudge paled as he saw several lords actually considering the question.

"Who is this Lord Black?" Amelia Bones asked, having already checked whether the person was an Animagus. "It is a man, all right."

"This rat here, both literally and figuratively, is Peter Pettigrew, the secret keeper of the Potters, while my grandson Sirius was the decoy. But they didn’t know he was a Death Eater, in his cowardice, for long, and thus Voldemort found the Potters. But fate is a funny thing. Pettigrew lost the support of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. Sirius hunted him down in anger, and the rat fired a blasting curse at a gas line, killing eleven Muggles. He then sliced off his own finger, which was later found. It was very surprising when I discovered this rat."

Albus looked very angry as he understood the situation, his thoughts turning to the dead Order members. How many died because of this spy? he wondered.

Before anyone could act, Albus decided to take matters into his own hands. It was a hurricane of magic. The Elder Wand, waved in the air. The result was instantaneous.

The rat turned into a human—who many recognized as Peter Pettigrew. The air then solidified into a chair, and chains were charmed to stop any Animagus transformations for a while. Three more charms hit Peter: a basic healing one, an energizing charm, and a calming one. With another wave, a vial of Veritaserum floated from the side shelf, where it was stored for court use, and three drops were poured down Peter's throat.

It was then that someone finally reacted to Albus' actions, which had stopped waking Peter.

"Chief Warlock, Veritaserum is banned from questioning unless there is a three-quarters vote or the person himself agrees," Lord Malfoy said with contempt.

"Ah, Lucius, that is for purebloods who are citizens of Britain. Peter Pettigrew is declared dead by the Ministry, and this here is a “nobody”, who has no rights as a British citizen. We must find out who he is, after all. And one more thing, Lucius—dead men have no rights or wishes," Albus said, his eyes twinkling madly and a grin spreading across his face, infuriating his opponents. "Now, be silent and let the rat sing."

And sing he did….

ADS 26

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 26: A Wolf in South. 

90 AC

Kingslanding.

Cregan Stark looked at the bustling port as their ship, The Red Death, sailed toward its assigned docking area. The ship was directly under House Stark’s control, though it was based in White Harbor for the time being. Lord Theomore Manderly and Aethan Reed were accompanying him on this journey to King’s Landing.

Typically, when a new Lord Paramount is sworn in, they appear before the Iron Throne to pledge fealty to their liege—except for the North. Usually, it was a representative from House Manderly who swore fealty on behalf of the Lord Stark, with a message sent via raven to formalize the pledge. But this time, King Jaehaerys had sent a royal summons, commanding Cregan Stark to King’s Landing to swear his allegiance in person and to discuss various matters.

Daemon, who had been settling in at Winterfell with him after the armies and lords had dispersed, had been surprised by the king’s decision to honor the Pact of Ice and Fire so fastly. Cregan, however, was skeptical. He doubted Daemon’s interpretation, believing the king’s invitation was about a future arrangement—perhaps a marriage alliance for one of his future daughters that will marry one the kings grandsons. After all, giving a daughter to a Lord Paramount, whose future children might eventually rule, was far riskier than marrying a daughter off to a lesser lord with heirs aplenty.

He still remembers the conversation they had in the Lord’s solar.

“I don’t see the king offering a daughters hand to me. daemon.  It may be that the king want to negotiate for future generation.  It would be too dangerous as a daughter could claim a dragon just like Princess Alyssa and even our children may have the ability to bond with dragons”. Cregan said.

Daemon nodded. “Don’t bother guessing. I assure you, if you marry Viserra, your children will have the capability to bond with dragons. They will be just like me and will have an even better bond with their dragons due to our warging abilities. That is the reason you are being summoned. Viserra is not betrothed to anyone, despite many vying for her hand. After careful deliberation, it was the king who made the decision. He wants to ensure your loyalty never wavers from the Iron Throne and the rightful king. The king also seeks to curb my influence in the North by tying the North closer to the crown.”

Cregan gaped at Daemon, realizing that he had spies in King’s Landing.

“How? You have spies in King’s Landing? How do you pay them? The money you hold with my house hasn’t been touched by you at all!”

“Oh, Cregan, why would I need to pay myself?” Daemon smirked. “I can warg and use the weirwood tree there to scry with my greenseeing whenever I wish. And honestly, I’m a little jealous of you—you get to marry a beauty like Viserra.”

Cregan blushed, still a boy in matters of romance. He had never ventured to brothels or indulged in the many offers presented to him.

“I still don’t understand why you stopped me from becoming a greenseer. Anyway, tell me about Viserra. Will she be a headache for me?”  Cregan asked seriously as he wished to have a good marriage and be a Lord Stark that will make his grandfather proud.

“I have told you, cregan, only one powerful greenseer at a time and the risk is too high with no additional benefits. Anyway,  I have the perfect plan to make you the most eligible bachelor in Westeros infront of her—well, apart from me.” Daemon grinned mischievously. “You should order Lord Theomore to accompany you, no matter what. Say you need his expertise or something along those lines.”

Cregan raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“What do you mean?”, cregan asked incredulously

“Well, let this be a test to your observational abilities and not be blinded by the beauty of Viserra. If you become enraptured my aunt will eat you alive.  You are yet a boy in the matters of women using their viles to get what they want.  You must atleast visit the brothel once to atleast make sure that you could put the cold Stark mask even when you are surrounded by seduction incarnates. You will do this in wintertown and when you reach white harbour. I don’t care whether you fuck or not, but you must desensitize yourself.”

And densinsitize, he did, very thoroughly.   

============

Cregan was shaken from his thoughts by Lord Theomore.

“My lord, I still cannot believe the direwolves are back in House Stark’s hands after centuries,” Lord Theomore said, glancing at Winter.

The direwolf was far smaller than the monstrous Fenrir, but Winter was already nearly shoulder-height to a grown man. Theomore noted the direwolf’s unease about the journey by sea, though the creature looked calm and placid. Still, he had not forgotten how both direwolves had torn a traitor in two when Cregan was threatened.

Cregan smiled and rubbed the direwolf’s head.

“For that, I am thankful to Daemon. He ventured beyond the Wall and even risked leaving the army to find these pups for us,” Aethan said, speaking from Cregan’s other side.

“Lord Reed, I’m happy that at least you ventured beyond the Neck, unlike your father,” Lord Manderly remarked.

Aethan merely smiled. “Yes, my fostering with Lord Stark made it possible.”

As the ship docked at the port, they were hailed by one of the port officers. Sailing for mere travel was costly, but they carried trade goods to offset the expense.

Cregan remained silent as the ship’s captain explained their cargo. The officer jotted something down, and the formality was complete.

“My lord, let us disembark and head to the city,” Aethan said. “The captain will handle the rest. We’re not needed here.”

Lord Manderly nodded in agreement, and Cregan followed. As they stepped onto the pier, Winter leaped down with them.

The appearance of the direwolf caused a commotion. Someone screamed in fright, and a group of port guards approached briskly, their hands resting on their half-unsheathed swords.

Before Cregan could use his lordly voice to restore order, another voice shouted over the chaos.

“Enough of this commotion! It’s just Lord Stark, a guest of His Grace the King.”

Cregan turned to see a man in pristine armor with a flowing white cloak—a Kingsguard. The man was flanked by ten guards and quickly recognized as Ser Ryam Redwyne.

Cregan and his retinue approached, stopping a few paces away from the Kingsguard.

“Lord Stark, welcome to King’s Landing,” Ser Ryam greeted him. “I am Ser Ryam Redwyne, sent by His Grace to escort you and your retinue to the Red Keep. Rooms have been prepared for you and five others. However, your men are not permitted to carry swords outside their quarters.” Ser Ryam’s gaze lingered on the hilt of Ice and the large direwolf.

“You are permitted to carry Ice, as ancestral swords are allowed. But I must ask—is the wolf tame?”

Cregan regarded him silently for a moment before snorting. “A direwolf is never truly tamed, Ser Ryam. It becomes our friend. Winter here is calm as long as no one threatens him or those he favors.”

Ser Ryam’s expression turned stern for a moment. “The wolf is permitted as long as you take responsibility for its actions. No one is to harm you or your companions, so the wolf is welcome as long as you—or someone who can command it—are present.”

“Then only myself and Aethan Reed can manage Winter,” Cregan replied. “If the wolf is not with me, he will be with my dear friend Aethan here.”

Ser Ryam nodded. “Then let us not delay. The royal family awaits you. You are to be presented before the Iron Throne for the swearing-in ceremony at noon. You have limited time to prepare. Your men can carry your belongings, and servants at the Red Keep will assist you.”

Cregan nodded and followed as they proceeded toward the city.

===================================

Viserra Targaryen

She didn’t know whether to cry or laugh at her situation. She and the entire royal family, along with the court, were assembled at the Iron Throne for the Stark to swear fealty. She hadn’t seen her future betrothed up close till now, even when they were escorted in to the Red Keep. The presence of a rather huge wolf made her ignore everything else when she spied upon them at that time.

She was nineteen years old and yet had never experienced true freedom. Her father, in his paranoia, had banned any of his daughters from claiming a dragon. Oh, she knew there was no blatant order to that effect, but the ways her family stopped her, Saera, and even Gael from meeting any unclaimed dragons were evidence enough. Saera had even attempted to claim a dragon before her banishment to the Faith and eventual escape to Lys, but that too had been thwarted.

What truly made her hate her parents was the hypocrisy of allowing Rhaenys to claim a dragon before her marriage to Viserys. Rhaenys had claimed Meleys last year, and Viserra knew that neither Viserys nor Daemon was pleased about losing the chance to claim their mother’s dragon. Only Baleon their father allowing Rhaneys to claim Meleys, by bending over to Aemon’s words as usual,  stopped them from throwing a tantrum Viserra knew the deep friendship between Viserys and Rhaenys had strained because of it, and if some careful words from their "loving aunt" had needled them, it was only for their own good.

Viserra knew the king only permitted Rhaenys to claim the dragon because she was the heir to Crown Prince Aemon and because of the influence of both Aemon and Baelon. Her father, who had once threatened his sons with Balerion for disagreeing with him, had grown calmer and weaker in his old age. His apparent will to enforce his aims on House Targaryen as a whole had diminished. This was evident from their last conversation—the last one she considered ever having with her father. She had decided she had lost him after that because he had enforced his will upon her like a King and only a King.

One year ago…

“Why, Father? What makes Rhaenys so special that you allowed her a dragon? Why not me?”

Her father looked tired, but the disappointment in his expression was evident.

“Why, you ask? Rhaenys is my heir’s heiress. She needs a dragon to rule as the queen of this kingdom, not as a puppet to her husband, even if he is a son of House Targaryen. Rhaenys has a blessed bastard brother who has been strengthening one of the largest kingdoms for decades. Only an experienced dragonrider as Queen would make him reconsider ever attempting to claim the throne, if the desire strike him later.  Why allow a weakness when we can ensure our strength?”

Viserra was surprised by the thoughtfulness of the King and his legacy.

“And it is not my fault that you failed to impress your brothers—or even Viserys, for that matter—enough to allow you to marry into House Targaryen and thus claim a dragon. You are to be married to Lord Cregan Stark. The Starks are Daemon’s only support, and I must sever that bond. That will ensure that no Lords from the past North will think of making Daemon a king, even if my grandson is not interested.”

Viserra gaped at her father. This was something she had never considered and then she was angry.

“Father, what are you talking about? Who in their right mind would support a bastard over the legitimate heirs? The North is distant, and even they are not foolish enough to fight the entire South in addition to dragonriders. Daemon has not even ventured a day in the South, and you fear his shadow, sacrificing my happiness and my rights? This is not Maegor Targaryen with Balerion!”

She snarled in anger but immediately froze upon uttering the hated name in front of the king.

She fearfully looked at her father, expecting cruel words or punishment. Instead, she was surprised when the king, for once, did not look ready to burn anyone with Vermithor for merely mentioning Maegor’s name.

“You are absolutely correct, my daughter,” the king said, and she wondered why she felt as though he was proud of her. “For all your airheadness and the games you play with weak men, there is some cunning in you. I am sacrificing your happiness and rights for the good of our house. I am glad you recognize that.

And no, Daemon Snow is not Maegor with Balerion. If he were, I would feel reassured, as we would know exactly what he is capable of. But now, I have no idea what abilities my grandson possesses or how to defend against him if he chooses violence. I truly considered legitimizing him and marrying him to Rhaenys to end all these worries, but the cost of that would outweigh the benefits. So here I am, yet again, sacrificing one of my children for the good of the house.”

Viserra just snorted at the apparent reason spouted by the king.

“What cost and benefit? You’re just prideful that the child you abandoned is becoming important enough for you to want him back. You’re afraid of the future of our house deviating from the path you designed through Aemon and Baelon. Daemon is unpredictable and not under the influence of our house or our lessons.”

“Well, well, now I’m really impressed by you, Viserra,” her father said with mirth. “You’ve spent much time pondering this during your house arrest for attempting to seduce Baelon.”

“Aye, many such thoughts crossed my mind,” Viserra retorted.

“Daughter, for your sacrifice and in recognition of your cunning, I will acknowledge your children as princes and princesses of the realm,” the king said.

Viserra was confused. “I thought any children and grandchildren of the king were princes and princesses.”

“No,” the king replied with a smile. “Only the male line has that right. Any female who marries outside retains her birth title, but her children are only Lords or Ladies.”

Viserra looked thoughtful for a moment. She didn’t know why she asked the next question or why it included that particular name. Perhaps it was because Rhaenys had been giggling about the Sea Snake’s accomplishments that morning. Or perhaps it was fate.

“So, for example, if Rhaenys married outside the family—say to Corlys Velaryon—then their children would be Lords and Ladies unless Rhaenys became queen or the king acknowledged them as princes and princesses. Is that correct, Father?”

The moment she finished her question, she realized her mistake. The king’s gentle smile vanished, replaced by a cold, rage-filled expression. His eyes glinted with fury and even a hint of madness. This was the reaction she expected when she mentioned her cursed grand uncle Maegor not for this trivial question.

“Viserra, you are dismissed. You will inform me of any such plans involving my sons or even Rhaenys. Do you understand?”

The tone was harsh, unlike any before, and she could only accept the order and flee from the solar.

==============

That conversation had happened over a year ago, and Viserra had spent much time pondering what had made her father so angry. Shameful as it was to admit, it took a spy from her mother’s side—her little sister Gael—to tell her about their mothers’ complaints about their father’s apparent dislike of the Sea Snake.

Viserra was glad she finally understood it, and now she could have her own form of revenge on Rhaenys, the king, and her foolish elder brothers. Rhaenys had a crush on the handsome older man, and Viserra had used every opportunity to turn that small crush into a deep infatuation.

Rhaenys had Aemon in her grasp, and Viserra knew that the naïve Aemon would ensure Rhaenys could marry whomever she desired. The fact that the Baratheons and Velaryons were also related to her through their shared grandmother, Alyssa Velaryon, only worked in her favor. The best part? She would be out of the capital when it all finally happened, entirely blameless in the scheme.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the herald called out names as they entered.

Viserra’s anger at her parents surged when she saw Theomore Manderly for the first time.

Her mother dared to marry her off to this fat, ugly, old man? She glared at her mother, who looked genuinely surprised at the appearance of her old friend. Her mother must have felt the weight of her glare, as guilt flickered across her face for a moment before vanishing.

Only the herald’s loud announcement of "Cregan Stark and his wolf, Winter" pulled Viserra’s attention away.

The first thing that struck her was that this was no boy—it was a man. There was nothing boyish about the fully grown figure standing tall before her. His posture radiated confidence, bordering on arrogance, a silent declaration of his strength.

Her gaze traveled to the massive wolf beside him, and she froze. The wolf’s piercing eyes were locked on her, almost as though it understood her every thought. There was an intelligence in the beast’s gaze that she had seen only in dragons.

As Cregan approached the throne, Viserra was finally able to get a clearer look at him, and she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief as the swearing-in ceremony began.

At least he was comely,—perhaps even handsome, in his own way  and  more importantly, younger than her, allowing her to wrap him around her desires.  Maybe being the princess of Winterfell will be better than being cooped as wife of Baelon or any other Targaryen without any personal power or choice.  No one would be above her station in the North and only the Lord of Winterfell have any perceived power to order her around.  The jealous Lords in the court whispered that the Starks are still King in all but name in the North and may be being a Queen in all but name will be what she needed. 

==============================

Cregan Stark

Cregan sat in the king's hall with Lord Manderly. We had both been invited by the king for a meeting.

Cregan knew the purpose of the gathering was to discuss the betrothal, and he knew there was no escaping it, even though he had no desire for escaping it. Viserra was the most beautiful lady he had ever seen. Even Winter couldn’t sense any trouble from her.

The king, Princes Aemon and Baelon, along with the queen sitting in the table opposite him.

"Lord Stark, I assume you have an idea of why you were summoned to King's Landing," Prince Baelon said.

Cregan was surprised it was Baelon who started the dialogue when all others were elder in age and position.   He also noticed the slight nod from the king, signalling that the discussion should begin.

"I will be honest, my prince," Cregan said. "I never thought I would be considered to fulfill our pact. In fact, it was Daemon who correctly guessed that I would fulfill it, and that I was being considered for Princess Viserra's hand. And, as usual, he was right." He said this pointedly, observing their reactions. He missed Winter's presence, as the warg bond would help him truly understand their feelings. But there was no way the king would accept a dangerous wolf in such an enclosed space.

The king looked indifferent, but it was Aemon and the queen who reacted the most—Aemon with interest and the queen with a slight frown and a glare at him.

"It seems the tales of my grandson’s talents have not been exaggerated," the king said. "I wonder how he knew of the events unfolding here?"

"I too wonder the same, Your Grace," Cregan replied cooly.

"I see," the king said. "And how is my grandson faring? Has he settled down with a wife? I’ve heard you’ve been using him for so long, even declaring him heir until you have children."

Cregan nodded. "Aye, Your Grace. There is no one else with enough Stark blood, and I know he will make a fantastic ruler, should that time come. Daemon, however, will not settle down. He is a free spirit, sowing his wild oats. He likes to travel, and staying in one place bores him now."

The queen snorted in derision. "No wonder. Bastards are, after all, lustful beings. Lord Stark, I wonder whether you’ve ever considered that Daemon might want your position. He’s quite near being in the position of a powerful lord of the realm, and you’ve even declared him heir. It would only take an accident to make it so. When he was born and was a minor, so many were in line for the position of Lord of Winterfell, and look at his position now."

Cregan noticed Prince Aemon’s face contorting with rage, but a hand from Prince Baelon silenced him. The king looked tired but intrigued by how Cregan would respond. However, it was Lord Manderly’s reaction that surprised him.

Manderly looked at the queen as though seeing her for the first time, bewildered, before anger appeared on his face quickly morphing into indifference.

"Ah, well, I’m grateful for your concern, Your Grace," Cregan replied pointedly. "But I know your grandson better than all, except maybe Aethan Reed. He doesn’t thirst after the North or any lordship for that matter. He doesn’t want to be tied down to any one place, and he has higher callings. Also, my queen, it is not in our hands whether we live or die. It was the time for my grandfather and father, but it was betrayal that caused my uncle’s line to lose their position. I also don’t know if you’ve realized this, but it’s the same number of relevant people ahead of him in his paternal line as well."

Manderly looked momentarily afraid at the sheer gall of his liege lord.

"Are you threatening my house, Lord Stark?" Alysanne asked, her voice tinged with barely hidden anger. "And you’ve somehow mistaken the numbers. My daughters Visserra and Gael are there too."

"Of course not, my queen," Cregan said calmly. "I’m merely pointing out the similarities between our houses and how the Old Gods could curse us at any point. I didn’t include your youngest daughters. I don’t think I’d want to leave the North and my home to become king consort if such an unfortunate event were to come to pass. And I’ve heard the hateful rumors about Princess Gael that have been spread. No lords from the South will support her unless they marry her and usurp her authority. Should the Princess Gael finds in such an unfortunate position being the sole member alive, the only one with Targaryen blood capable of reigning and silencing all those ambitious lords is my brother. Even then, I sincerely pray that such a moment never comes to pass, as he will hate it with all his heart."

"Such pessimistic words from a young mind," the king interjected before anyone could say anything further. "My queen, I’m sure our grandson will not do anything dishonourable, and such a wise man as Cregan would discover any deceit you fear. Lord Stark, I would caution you to use your words carefully. You came close to speaking treason. Still, I understand where those words came from. We both suffered the deaths of our beloved family at a young age, and now betrayal from someone who should support and love us with all their heart."

"Aye, my king," Cregan said, bowing his head. "I apologize to you and to my queen for my words. It’s difficult to swallow the disparagement against someone who taught me so much and supported me so much, even if it was my queen and the grandmother of the person in question."

Queen Alysanne remained silent, merely nodding.

"Baelon," the king said, turning to his son, "I see how you granted two great boons to Lord Stark when you went to procure a cure for my grandson. Also, Lord Stark, isn’t it presumptuous of you to consider yourself the groom for my dear daughter even before the offer is made? I could change my mind at any point, and no one would find dishonor in it. It’s just rumors—no one, not even the small council, knows the truth. So tell me, why should you be honored to have my daughter as your wife?"

Cregan looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.

"Your Grace, it’s true that it was presumptuous of me to say so. It was just my own reckless thoughts and desires since seeing the lovely princess. There’s no shame for House Stark in a broken betrothal, as it’s not known to anyone. It is your order, my king, that I will follow. But as I told Prince Baelon all those years ago, House Stark is the most apt choice for Princess Viserra’s hand—unless, of course, Prince Baelon suddenly wishes to remarry. I am a proven warrior, and any threats to our position have been handled in the last three wars in the North. His grace’s grandson will be the Lord of Winterfell and the future Warden, loyal to his cousin sitting on the Iron Throne. More than that, his grace wishes to honor the Pact between our houses."

King jaeaherys scrutnised  cregan for some time before  speaking.

"At least you’re more observant and clever than some foolish petitions for her hand I’ve heard about," the king murmured. "Lord Stark, let us begin the discussion. The marriage should be held in two moons' time in King’s Landing, and I’m sure that’s enough time for you to court my daughter. We can discuss dowry and other details later."

Cregan hesitated for a moment before sighing.

"Your Grace, I am ready to marry in two moons' time, but I wish to marry in the Godswood, and my brother Daemon to officiate the ceremony. The northern lords would be angered if I married in a sept, as it would give credence to my traitorous uncle’s words. Please allow me to send a raven to Winterfell to tell him to come here with your permission of course."

"No," the king said sternly.

"Your Grace?" Cregan asked hesitantly.

"My grandson is banished from the South, and I will not revoke that order now," the king replied. "I’m sure Lord Manderly or Lord Reed could officiate the marriage."

"My king, it’s not about the knowledge of officiating," Cregan said earnestly. "I want Daemon to be there. He is the closest thing I have to a father figure now, and I don’t want to marry without him being present."

the queen scoffed at that and asked,

"You would reject the hand of a princess, my beautiful Viserra, and the order of your king, along with the boons of marrying royalty, for a bastard?"

"Aye, I would gladly reject the beauty and the boons for my brother, Your Grace," Cregan replied. "But never an order from my king. But this is not an order from my king. If it were, please make it so, my king, and I will follow it." Cregan said, looking at the king. There was no emotion in his face, and Aemon could see the cold Stark mask.

Even without any outward expression of anger or sadness, everyone understood that the order would be followed without question, but it would be remembered forever.

"No, it’s not an order. This is a discussion, not a command from me," the king said. "You raise some valid points, the northern lords are indeed prickly. Why make a problem when they are so eager to follow you now?" The king sighed. "The realm wants to celebrate the marriage of the princess, and they would be happy to come to King’s Landing. Ignoring them is not something I’m willing to do. So, tell me, Lord Stark, what would you suggest to overcome this?"

Cregan knew the king already had a solution and was testing him.

"My king, our marriage could be held at Winterfell, and all the northern lords would gladly participate. The realm may not like traveling there, but there’s no need for that, as Princess Visserra is not Princess Rhaenys, and she’s not third in line to the Iron Throne. A celebratory tourney can be held here, announcing our betrothal to the realm. The realm can participate, and House Targaryen can attend the marriage in Winterfell easily, as you are all dragonriders. This will also give me time to properly court the Princess."

The king looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding.

"Close to what I had in mind, Lord Stark. Let us continue the discussion and get it over with," the king said, sighing.

============================= 

2 days later.

Family Dinner hall.

Rhaenys Targaryen

She looked to her left, where her mother was sitting and overseeing the courses. It was a private family dinner gathering, with an addition of Cregan Stark. An unofficial way to introduce the royal family, as they were to be kin by marriage. Rhaenys noticed the calm mask her mother projected, but she could see the wariness and anger in her face. Jocelyn had tried to stop the coming betrothal, knowing Cregan would never go against Daemon, since Cregan had been influenced by the bastard since childhood. Rhaenys had even heard her mother complain that this was just a way of handing over Viserra to Daemon and he will influence her to his side.

Rhaenys had tried to defend her aunt. Viserra was the first one to congratulate her for claiming Meleys, even when the king denied herself a dragon. It was her aunt who had helped her immensely, introducing her to the Sea Snake and explaining that sometimes small fancies turn into infatuation and later into love. She had tried to see Viserys in that position, as her father wanted, but she could never see Viserys standing against the vultures to defend her claim the way the Sea Snake would if he had married her. It was the childhood impression of beating Daemon at even a single thing that sparked her small infatuation with the legendary Sea Snake. The stupid bards loved to sing about the Red Death, the development of the North by introducing grains and new techniques, and even god-blessed healing. There were almost a dozen catchy songs spread by the bards, and she wondered whether someone had spent a fortune making them sing it at every occasion.

Rhaenys looked at Lord Stark, who was handsome and a warrior to boot. She wondered whether her bastard brother would be similar. She had heard that Daemon’s half-black, half-silver hair was famous, just like his heterochromatic eyes. She continued eating, still unsure whether to make Corlys her husband. She was undecided and still thinking over it.

She saw Viserys smiling as she talked with Cregan while they ate, and the general mood in the room was good. Cregan answered many questions from her father and uncle about the supposed rebellions and how they were handled. She didn’t know whether Cregan’s handling of the issues was good or not, but her father seemed impressed.

As the conversation between her father and Cregan came to a lull, her cousin Daemon decided to ask a question.

“So, where is the wolf? Has it killed anyone or is it just giant puppy without bite?” Daemon asked casually, and Rhaenys almost scolded her younger cousin for his lack of respect and aggressive tone.

Luckily, Rhaenys noticed her uncle keeping an eye on the conversation, and Cregan looked unbothered by the question, though he glanced at Daemon with curiosity.

“Aye, the wolf has killed many people. The last one was my uncle, when he tried to kill me from behind after surrendering. Though I can’t take all the credit, it was Fenrir who finished him. But my prince, you didn’t say your name? Are you the prince whose life was saved by my cure?” Cregan asked.

Rhaenys could feel a headache coming, knowing Daemon was already a wild child, and only his harsh training kept him from making trouble.

“Fenrir? There’s another one?” Daemon said. “Also, no, I am not Aegon. I am Prince Daemon Targaryen.”

“Ah! ha!” Cregan exclaimed with a smile. “The prince named after my brother, Daemon Snow. You have a hard legacy to live up to, my prince. I don’t envy you.”

Rhaneys could hear the silence as the entire conversation died around the table.  Rhaneys knew that the only reason Daemon has not exploded because of the sheer shock.

Rhaenys could hear the silence as the entire conversation around the table died. She knew the only reason Daemon hadn’t exploded was the sheer shock of it.

“What? I’m not named after some northern bastard and Who the fuck is this Daemon Snow?” Daemon yelled, hitting the table in anger. The utensils and food flew off the table, making a ruckus.

“Enough!” The king snapped, and Daemon immediately stopped yelling.

Everyone looked at Cregan and Daemon in surprise or blamed him for the outburst.

“I regret mentioning that, your grace. I didn’t know that Prince Daemon was not aware of his elder cousin in the north.”

Rhaenys could see that Cregan had a sheepish grin on his face, as if he hadn’t meant to provoke Prince Daemon, but she understood it had been done deliberately.

Both Baelon and Aemon sighed, knowing it would take time before Daemon calmed down, and that there would be days of suffering from his yelling and temper tantrums. Rhaenys could see that daemon has noticed the lack of surprise on her and viserys face and there would be days full of headache for her in the future.   Atleast she knows to escape it by going to Meleys and Corlys

===============

Authors note:  yeah no one wanted to infrom the kid rouge prince that the world believes he is namesake for aemon’s bastard….   Well daemon is only 7-8 years and perfect age to throw a legendary  temper tantrums….